On the Diamond Waves
by Shimizu Hitomi
Summary: MFoMT. One year in the life of a city girl turned farmer. A quiet tale of love and loss over the changing seasons. Claire/Doctor/Kai.
1. Spring

**Disclaimer: I don't own ittttt.**

**Summary:** MFoMT. One year in the life of a city girl turned farmer. A quiet tale of love and loss over the changing seasons.  
**Pairings:** Claire/Doctor, Claire/Kai, and the other canon stuff...  
**Ratings: **T for drinking, language, and future sexytiems.

**Notes:** I. I don't even know.

More seriously, I wrote this on a whim and finished it pretty fast (for me) so it's pretty bad, and I haven't played Back to Nature or any other Harvest Moon games (I am aware that the storyline/characterization is slightly different and/or more developed in Back to Nature as I did a bit of research). This story just struck me as one I wanted to tell. Based on my limited understanding of both BtN versions, the characterization is more interesting there, but MFoMT has a different enough take on things that I kind of wanted to play with it. I'm not likely to ever write for this fandom again. Ah well, sometimes a girl just has to write out the crap in her head. (That said, I want to make it clear that this is _not_ a self-insert fic.)

Also, in terms of world building -- not that there's too much of it here -- I took a lot of cues from Japanese culture. So 20 as the age of majority, office ladies, the Spring and Winter Thanksgivings as Valentine's Day/White Day, etc. (Years are not four months long btw, simply for ease of writing...)

Soundtrack for this fic is Heart's Dreamboat Annie album, the title track(s) in particular, but really the whole album, as well as their original version of "Alone". And yes, the rest of this fic is already mostly finished; I'm just going to stagger the posting of each chapter.

* * *

_**1. Spring**_

A new year, a new life, a new start. I'd been dreaming of it for weeks.

Well, I'd gotten my new start all right.

o-o-o

I slept through the rest of the day and some ways into the next morning. I was so tired -- tired from the move, tired from the realization that I'd been cheated, tired from the daunting prospect before me, from the sheer frustration of nothing ever going the way I wanted it to. My mother had always said that the activities you choose to partake in on the first day of the year set your course for the rest of the year (it was her way of nagging at me for sleeping in after partying too much on the _last_ day of the year), but frankly, I didn't care. Not this year. I hadn't arrived until the evening, and there wasn't as if there was much else I could do just then -- the rest of the town was busy with New Year's celebrations, I was told (by that irritating little mayor, for whom I still had to repress a certain urge to beat up).

But as soon as I woke, I knew that the first thing I had to do -- even before beginning the grueling task of clearing the fields -- was to introduce myself to my new neighbors. I gritted my teeth, fed the little puppy who had come with the house as a housewarming gift, and set out to do the thing I hated most: socializing. I'd wanted a new start, after all. And that meant changes, not just in my surroundings, but my own attitudes.

To my surprise, the greetings went more smoothly than I'd expected. In fact, by the time I reached the winery at around noon, I was almost relaxed.

That changed as soon as I met Manna, who ran the place with her husband Duke.

"Oh, you _must_ sit down and tell me why you decided to move here one of these days. I mean you look like such a pleasant young woman, and the last few people who came were all retired old grandpas -- and of course one can hardly expect someone who'd been looking forward to a nice and peaceful retirement to want to stay get that rundown old place running again. But oh did you know? You're not the only new face in town. Actually there's that nice young man who wandered in just this past winter, very quiet though, he mostly hangs around the church. And there's old Saibara's grandson come in from the city to apprentice as a blacksmith -- but you must have met them already, right? Isn't that boy so adorable? Such a grumpy thing! Really, we've got quite a few eligible young men in town. Like that nice Rick from the chicken farm, but you've met him too by now, I'm sure. And Doctor -- Doctor Trent? Tim? Something with a T, anyway we all just call him Doctor so I suppose it doesn't matter! Isn't that the funniest thing? Wonderful man, Doctor. It's so silly of Aja to insist that there's nothing worth staying for here -- Aja's our daughter, of course, but she left us a few years ago -- "

I had to tune her out then. (Did the woman ever stop to breathe?) It made me uncomfortable listening to the personal life stories of complete strangers, and her subtle but still all-too-apparent assumption that I had come here just to snag a man bothered me. That and the implication that a nice young woman such as myself must be harboring some juicy dark secret in my past; why else should I have left the big city?

Perhaps I was overthinking things; she meant well, I was sure. But I was not so impressed by good intentions as I might have been as a child.

Even so, her mention of the Doctor Without a Name intrigued me. I found the idea laughable, even sad. Was it even possible for someone to become so deeply defined by their occupation that people couldn't even remember their name? Teachers, professors at the university, random policemen on the streets -- though it was true we called them Teacher or Professor or Mr. Policeman or sometimes Miss, they were certainly not _nameless_.

Maybe it was a sign of great respect from the townspeople, that they thought so highly of him that he was nothing but "Doctor" to them. But at least the town gossip, if anyone, should have known his name.

Stripping him of his name seemed to me equivalent to an act of stripping him of his humanity altogether.

That such a thing could happen, even here, in this idyllic countryside, both fascinated and troubled me.

o-o-o

It was not until late afternoon that I reached the clinic. (I finally managed to extricate myself from Manna's enthusiastic welcome by mentioning that I had not yet had the chance to meet the other townspeople. She was quite understanding -- apparently it was time for her daily gathering at the plaza as well, and she wouldn't miss a good chat for anything!)

The clinic was located in a quaint little building right next to the general store. Very neat, very orderly. Not quite warm and welcoming, but there was none of the cold sterility I had come to expect from hospitals.

I was the only one there. The young nurse at the reception smiled sweetly and introduced herself with the usual platitudes of welcome I had been hearing all day before leading me to see the Doctor himself.

I'm not sure what I had been expecting. Manna had referred to him as an "eligible young man", but despite that my mind had conjured up the image of a stern older gentleman so consumed in his work he had no use for human interaction.

But the man sitting there could not be in more than his late twenties. I saw immediately why Manna thought so highly of him; he was very handsome indeed. Stern, too, perhaps -- but _that_ illusion was dispelled as soon as he looked up and opened his mouth.

"Oh?" he said, looking utterly bewildered. "I don't believe I've seen you around before."

Elli, the nurse, giggled. "She's new to town, Doctor."

"Ah! The one who took over that old farm! I heard about you from my patients."

Somehow, I was not surprised. After meeting Manna, I could see how quickly news must travel in a small town like this.

I smiled and nodded. "I'm Claire. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Doctor. The doctor, as you can see." He laughed, and his eyes lit up, his face suddenly becoming strikingly animated. I was too surprised to fully process the two new revelations I had just received: one, he had an awful sense of humor. Two, he was really a very attractive man.

"You're from the city, aren't you?" Without even waiting for a reply, he continued. "Everyone in this town is pretty healthy. Very different from the big cities. Must be the influence of natural surroundings."

"Um, yeah. I suppose so," I mumbled. (It is rather difficult to be eloquent before such unbridled enthusiasm.)

"There's still so much I have to learn about the world of medicine. But it must be the same for you. Farming's a difficult business, especially for a single young woman like you, fresh from the city."

Despite his words, there was nothing condescending in his tone, no prying curiosity regarding my unusual circumstances, and I found myself relaxing. "Yeah, I'm going to have to do quite a bit of studying myself."

The doctor nodded, solemn again. "That's great to hear. But do take care. Don't overwork yourself. Elli and I will be here if you need anything. In fact, please do drop in for a checkup every day, so I can make sure you're adjusting well to your new life."

"Yes, Claire," said Elli. "Make sure to come visit us as soon as you suspect anything might be wrong, okay?"

"Thank you," I replied. "That's very kind of you."

I prepared to leave, but just then he appeared to remember something.

"Oh, by the way -- while you're here, there's this special tonic I got from another town. It's supposed to help with stamina and fatigue, but I've found it isn't quite as effective as the medicines we have in stock here. I experimented with it a little and made some adjustments, so it should work better now, though it's still bitter. Would you care to give it a try?"

I glanced at Elli, who only looked a little embarrassed and gave a half-apologetic shrug, but said nothing.

"Sure, I guess." What was the harm, after all?

He seemed very pleased at my answer. He had a beautiful smile; it was a pity he didn't seem to use it often.

All I can say is, that smile made it all worth it.

I tried not to gag as the slimy substance slid down my throat, but it must have showed on my face anyway.

"Oh, that bad, huh?" he said, watching me with a concerned look on his face. "But it does work, doesn't it?"

I swallowed and stood there for a few moments, trying to rid the taste from my mouth. But he was right. Some of the exhaustion that had been settling in after traipsing around town all day had miraculously vanished, as if a heavy burden had lifted from me all of a sudden.

This time, I managed a grin. "It does indeed, Doctor. Thank you!"

"I knew you'd appreciate it! Would you like another?"

The face I made then must have been something to see.

"Just kidding," he said in response, in a voice so deadpan that I couldn't tell if he were telling the truth or if I had just deeply offended him. "Anyway, thank _you_, Claire. It's been a pleasure talking to you today, and I appreciate your courage." He promptly went back to scribbling notes on his pad without so much as a farewell.

The hell?

Elli giggled nervously and took me aside. "Sorry about that. He's been wanting test subjects other than himself for a while, but you're the first one to accept his request. I would have, but I'm not nearly as brave as you two." She sighed. "Doctor is so committed, isn't he? I really should learn from his example."

"It's all right," I assured her, and hastily bid my farewell.

So I was a guinea pig, huh?

I decided not to think too hard about it. Now that my greetings were finally complete, I had fields to clear, and a new pair of chickens to pick up.

o-o-o

Adjusting to life on the farm was at once both easier and more difficult than I had anticipated. After that first evening clearing weeds and moving away other debris, I woke up the next morning feeling so sore I didn't even want to get up. But when I remembered my chickens, and the puppy, and my newfound responsibilities, I forced myself out of bed, grabbed a quick breakfast, and set about the daily chores I had set for myself.

It got easier after that. Once I worked out a schedule and settled into a rhythm, the problems that cropped up every day (no pun intended) gradually became interesting challenges instead of irritating hassles. The pattern of repetition here was different from the dull monotony of city life I had been so desperate to escape from: life as an office lady, pleasant little drone in a huge corporation, no future ahead of her but smiling and pouring tea and juggling ornery clients until she found a man to settle down with --

Perhaps the only reason I was enjoying my new life so much because it was all still so new to me, so fresh, and the physical activity left so little time for me to dwell on any anger or frustration. (Being forced back into shape was a nice bonus.) Certainly life in the office, too, had seemed different and new and promising, once. But I knew even then that the old anger and resentment had been there, lurking in the shadows of my heart, growing and growing like a weed until it began to chafe, to suffocate the very life from me.

Here, though, even my nights were filled with stimulating productivity. Sometimes I kicked back and watched a little bit of TV, but most of the time I found myself sitting at the table with the measly lamp I had brought with me, sketching out future expansions or planning out my projected budget for the next few years. Nothing was certain, and there was so much I still did not know or understand about the land, about the various crops, about the nuances of the marketplace. In school I had studied a little bit of economics, but that was nothing compared to the issues I now had to deal with on a daily basis. I was fascinated by how everything fit together, pleased to finally be putting my education to actual use, and determined more than ever to get the farm up and running again by the end of the year.

I guess I'd always been a bit of a dreamer. It's just that, unlike most dreamers, I actually made the plans to back them up. My impulsive decision to leave it all behind for the countryside had been the only major decision in my life that I'd ever made on a mere whim. And now, despite my bumpy start, it felt wonderful to finally have a clear goal to work towards again, a clear direction, after stagnating for so long.

As for Doctor (whose real name still remained unknown to me, as it never seemed quite appropriate to ask), I did as he had asked, and dropped in every day, sometimes in the mornings, sometimes in the afternoon. I felt guilty about being unable to pay him, so I got into a habit of bringing little gifts with me on every visit. An egg from one of my chickens, or herbs I gathered on Mother's Hill from time to time. He was always delightfully grateful for even the smallest gestures on my part. On Wednesdays the clinic was closed, but I would find him reading in the library instead, poring over medical publications and treatises on various herbal remedies, many of which were penned by our own local botanist Basil, father of the librarian Mary, a demure, withdrawing novelist-in-making with whom I soon bonded over our shared love of books and literature.

Since I too found occasion to visit the library frequently for my own studies on agriculture and livestock care and soil research, subjects I had never even been interested in until now, we found our paths crossing quite often.

The more I got to know him, the more puzzled I grew. He was a strange man, I thought, so different from the other young bachelors in town. Rick from the chicken farm was nice enough, but his childhood friend Karen, whose parents ran the general store, was the other girl around my age whom I had grown particularly close to -- close enough to realize there was something going on between the two of them, though I didn't pry. Gray the apprentice blacksmith was young and gruff and resentful, but also sweet once I got to know him better. (He was also swiftly developing a painfully obvious crush on Mary.) And then there was Cliff, the wanderer who spent all of his time moping in the church. A few years ago, I might have found the man attractive, but he was profoundly insecure and by now I was _done_ with boys with Issues.

Doctor, however -- on one hand he was the spitting image of the ambitious, talented young doctor type my mother had always pushed me to date: so serious, so obsessed with work, so sure to be successful in life, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. And yet here he was, with that unpredictable, offbeat sense of humor and charming enthusiasm that belied his usual solemn mask, running a little clinic in the countryside instead of climbing the ranks at a major hospital. I wondered often why he chose to stay here in Mineral Town, when surely he had plenty of prospects elsewhere. For a man so passionate about medicine and the newest developments in his field, there were many places that would have suited him better, places with far easier access to the information he seemed to devour so greedily.

I liked to talk to him, I realized. We talked about everything, from utterly silly philosophical inquiries about the nature of the spirits of the land, to serious discussions about our work and the various avenues of research we were each investigating. With him, I never felt pressured to speak up or to explain myself, or put up false barriers of courtesy. Our conversations simply ebbed and flowed naturally, alternating between silence and words, sometimes mine, sometimes his.

One fine, quiet Wednesday morning, I ascended Mother's Hill to gather herbs. As I entered the clearing by the lake, I was surprised to see a familiar figure gazing out upon the still surface of the water. Just as I was pondering whether to disturb his silent reverie or not, he noticed me.

"Ah, good morning, Claire."

"Good morning, Doctor," I replied. Then, unable to suppress my curiosity, I asked, "What brings you all the way out here?"

"Well, I like to do a little herb-gathering myself sometimes. I buy ingredients from Zack too, but it's not enough." He cracked one of his rare smiles, but it seemed forced. "That's why I appreciate you always bringing me the interesting specimens you find..."

"You don't look very busy with foliage at the moment, though," I pointed out gently.

"Ah." The smile dropped from his face. After some time, he said, "I suppose... I've been thinking about my parents."

My heart skipped a beat. Normally he spoke as little of himself as I did about my own life. "Your parents?"

"My family's always been in the medical field. My father was a doctor, while my mother was a nurse. Naturally, they were both very busy. Barely spent any time with me as a child... I was lonely, and I resented them for it. But now that I've become a doctor myself, I find I begin to understand them more and more."

I looked out towards the lake, its surface shimmering with the pale morning light. It had rained the previous day, but this morning, the sky was a lovely shade of blue, not a single cloud in sight. Trees lined the area with green, and behind us bloomed wildflowers, splashes of color against the pale grass.

"As a doctor, one holds great responsibility over human lives," he continued. "It is a most sacred duty that we are charged with... one that ought to take priority above all else. I -- I regret much of what I said to my parents back then. I was a damned little fool of a rebel."

I tried to imagine him, young and angry and rebellious, and found that I could not.

"Sorry," he said then, rather sheepishly. "I didn't mean to go on so much about myself..."

But I shook my head. "I envy you," I said softly. "To have so much passion and conviction in what you do. That's something pretty miraculous in itself, don't you think? I bet your parents must be proud of what you've become."

He said nothing for some time. "What about you? Do you not have passion for your work on the farm?"

"I... I suppose I do. But it's all so new to me, still."

"Yes, that is true, I suppose."

I hesitated. "My mother was always pushing her expectations on me. For the longest time, I could never be sure whether the things I chose were for her, or what I really wanted for myself."

We fell silent again.

"I think I'll stay here for a while longer," he said at last.

I nodded. "See you later today."

I left him to his memories, and tossed my own bitterness and regrets into the clear depths of the lake.

o-o-o

Spring Thanksgiving rolled around, and I was awakened early that morning by an insistent precise knocking at my door. I tottered out of bed to greet whoever had been brave or foolhardy enough to wake me from my precious slumber.

It was Doctor.

With a neatly wrapped package in his hands.

"Oh!" I said. (Godawful hours in the morning are not conducive to coherency either.)

"Just a little something," he explained. "As thanks for all the help you've been giving me these past few weeks."

"You -- you shouldn't have. I mean. You didn't have to come all the way to my place just to --"

Was that a blush I saw on his face? It was not light enough yet to tell for sure.

"Well, no reason to provide more material for the rumor mill," he mumbled, and walked off briskly before I could say another word.

Now, how the hell was I supposed to interpret that?

o-o-o

But nothing seemed to change in the next few weeks. Not that I was expecting it to, I suppose. But I guess I felt a little awkward about it all. He shared a juice recipe with me one day, and later I saw him unexpectedly at the Cooking Festival ("Oh, that Doctor never participates in any of the festivities," Manna had said), apparently to keep an eye on Lillia, Rick's ill mother and a fabulous cook by all accounts. But other than that it seemed we both had become too busy to exchange much more than a few words every day.

I didn't mind. It gave me time to think and reconsider the direction our friendship seemed to be leading. If it were indeed heading in that direction, and of that I could not be certain. (Wasn't it too fast? Wasn't I reading too much into one silly little box of cookies?) I treasured our friendship in a way I rarely do, and I hated to think that I might destroy it over my foolish assumptions and misinterpretations. But at the same time, I am generally honest with myself -- or at least I try to be -- and I knew I was attracted to him on some level.

But Doctor, I wasn't sure he was a man even capable of feeling attraction. I mean, I knew he liked me, but it was probably just because I was one of the only people around who was willing or capable of putting up with his eccentricities, and who enjoyed talking to him on more than just a doctor-patient basis. And I _still_ didn't know his name. (I was beginning to wonder if his parents had not named him Doctor after all, as some kind of sick joke.)

As well, I was still relatively new in town, and it troubled me that I seemed to be falling into the expectations and assumptions Manna as well as quite a few other townspeople had made about me upon my arrival. I _hated_ that, more than anything else.

And then there was the matter of Elli. I have to admit, I had realized at some point that I didn't particularly like the other woman, but I couldn't tell if it were just because of misplaced jealousy or some unspoken rivalry between the two of us regarding Doctor. I suppose it was fairly obvious that she had feelings for him, though the good doctor was so dense I doubt he would have noticed even if she shouted out her love for him in his face.

Elli never failed to treat me with a certain sweet politeness and overt friendliness that struck me as somewhat false. I had dealt with office politics before, and hated the reminder of those days present in all my interactions with her. It's just that particular kind of passive-aggressive attitude that plain rubs me the wrong way; if she'd at least been openly catty, I think I'd have more respect for her, or find my feelings toward her more easy to deal with.

Or maybe not. Sometimes she really did seem sincere. I just couldn't tell -- couldn't tell if my judgment was already getting terribly muddled thanks to my unfortunate attraction, if I was just imagining that subtle tension between us or if it was a real concern.

I hated silly infatuations like this.

o-o-o

The next surprise came on my birthday, just a few days after the Cooking Festival. When I checked my mailbox that morning, I found cards from Mary and Karen, who had dug the information out of me some weeks back... and Doctor.

"Happy birthday," said Doctor without looking up from his work, when I dropped in that day with a bottle of milk from my newly purchased cow.

"Oh, is it your birthday?" exclaimed Elli. "I had no idea! Wow, happy birthday! That makes us both spring babies, doesn't it?"

Hers had been soon after Spring Thanksgiving; I had only found out the day after.

I laughed a bit. "Yes, it does. Thank you both. I got your card this morning too, Doctor. But however did you manage to find out?"

"From your patient records, of course," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

I don't know if I was disappointed by the answer or not. Of course, from the records. It made perfect sense. So much sense. What had I been expecting, anyway?

I think I was more hurt by the fact that he did not look at me even once while I was there. It was hardly the first time he'd done something of the sort -- when he got especially absorbed in his work, he was not easily distracted. And I had never minded it either... until now.

That night I went out drinking with Mary and Karen at the inn, run by Doug and his daughter Ann. Mary was technically underage, but boy could she hold her drink -- she was even more of a heavyweight than Karen, whom I'd already seen drink _Duke_ of all people under the table once.

"You two're positively terrifying," I declared in drunken seriousness.

Mary giggled and blushed while Karen laughed. "Damn right, girl. 's why we're drinkin' buddies!"

"So, Claire," said Mary (it was really unfair how sober she was compared to the two of us), "how are you enjoying your first birthday in Mineral Town?"

"Smashin'," I said. "Totally brilliant."

I might have proceeded to rant a little bit about insensitive idiot men who send out all kinds of mixed messages without even realizing that they're doing it. Just a bit. But hell, it was my birthday, and I planned on enjoying it instead of mooning over boy problems all night. So at some point my rant (helped along by Karen's own complaints about a certain anonymous someone -- and next to her problems my own troubles seemed pretty silly) took a detour and we started talking about pink elephants and giant dancing robots. Something like that. We even managed to drag Ann into the conversation. (I'm surprised her father didn't kick us out.)

Naturally, I woke up with the hangover from hell the next day.

When I stumbled into the clinic, wondering if Doctor had any hangover remedies in stock, he came out to greet me with far, far too much excitement. (In hindsight, that probably should have warned me.)

"Claire! Great timing! A new shipment of medicine just came in."

"Really?" I hoped it worked on hangovers. If it tasted as bad as last time's, it probably would.

"I knew you'd be interested! It should be like last time's, only twice as effective."

"Oh good."

"Wait right here, I'll go get it."

When he handed it to me, I downed it in one shot, uncomfortably aware that he was watching me again with that peculiar mix of concern and eager anticipation.

"How is it?"

How was it? Well, I was pretty sure I was beginning to see things, and the room was whirling and swirling as if it were last night again.

I hoped I didn't puke right on him. Gods above, that would be embarrassing.

As it turned out, I didn't have to worry much.

The last thing I heard before I blacked out completely was Doctor frantically shouting for Elli.

Nice to know he cared.

o-o-o

"I'm so sorry," he repeated for what must have been the thousandth time. "So sorry."

"It's okay. I'm the one who chose to try it."

"It must have been too strong for you. When I tried it earlier I was fine..."

I was too embarrassed to admit that I'd been nursing a massive hangover and that it really hadn't been my brightest moment, choosing to down some strange potion in that condition.

"My apologies. I shouldn't have pushed it on you."

He seemed so genuinely contrite at that moment that my chest tightened. It was probably just a doctor's instinctive concern for his patient, but it was the first time I had seen him so -- so worked up over someone other than himself.

And that someone was me.

"I --"

Elli conveniently chose that exact same moment to speak up.

"That's right, Doctor," she scolded. "You shouldn't force her try your medicines anymore."

She turned to me. "I'm so glad you're okay, Claire! If Doctor tries to make you do anything like this again, make sure to let me know!"

"It's all right, really," I protested as Doctor mumbled another apology.

By the time I left the clinic and returned to my fields (in the end I suppose that new medicine really did do wonders for my hangover), I felt thoroughly confused and unsettled by these latest developments. But there was work to be done, and I soon set the incident out of my mind.

Better that, than to overthink things.

o-o-o

There was a bit of a commotion on the streets right outside my gates on the last day of spring. I spied little May from Yodel Ranch running around excitedly, while Rick's chirpy younger sister Popuri stood chatting with an unfamiliar man with a dark tan and a bright bandanna tied about his head. When they saw me, they waved me over.

"Guess what, big sister? Kai's back!" said May.

"Bringin' summer back with him," added Popuri with a giggle. She so rarely acted her age that I was taken aback for a moment when I realized that she had been flirting with the man before I happened upon the scene.

"Heya," said the stranger, flashing a dazzling grin at me. "You weren't around last year, were you?"

"No, I just moved in this spring," I said.

"Thought so! The name's Kai, as you might have guessed. Nice to meet you, uh --?"

His smile was infectious. I grinned back. "Claire."

"Claire it is then. Y'know that little cottage down at the beach? I run a restaurant there during the summer. Drop by for a visit sometime, all right? I serve up some great dishes, you know!"

I readily agreed.

Later at the clinic, I asked Doctor about my new acquaintance.

"Oh, Kai?" he said, rather noncommittally as he flipped through the files on his desk. "So he's here already this year?"

"I take it he only shows up every summer?"

"That's right." He hesitated before adding, "Bit of a strange man. He's quite popular with the women, but most of the men here aren't very fond of him."

I could guess why.

"And you? What do you think of him?" I asked in a teasing tone.

He looked up from his work then, puzzled. "I confess, I do not know him very well myself. Is there a reason you ask?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "No, just curious!"

For the first time in years, I found myself looking forward to summer.


	2. Summer

**Disclaimer applies.**

**Notes:** Claire is not always as honest of a narrator as she thinks she is.

And just for the record, Kai feels coded as Okinawan to me, not that it affects the story too much.

* * *

_**2. Summer**_

Summer brought with it Beach Opening Day, and with it the start of tourist season. It seemed to be a popular season for many of the younger folks around town, and an annoyance for the older ones, but one they put up with regardless as a prime source of their income.

For newcomers like Gray, Cliff, and I, who belonged neither to the gaggles of tourists nor quite to the polite, long-suffering locals, I suppose the whole thing was a bit of a spectacle.

I spent that first day on the beach either playing with my puppy in the sands (he was still too young to participate in the yearly competitions that marked the first of the summer festivities), or chatting with Karen and Mary about the latest drama starring that cute young actor, or the series of light novels Mary was a huge fan of. It was pleasant to have a bit of a holiday to ourselves before the real influx of tourists began pouring in throughout the next few weeks, and from time to time I even caught sight of the young man named Kai, mingling and laughing in the gathered crowd. I didn't bother waving to him, however. He was surrounded by girls every time I saw him, and I figured he was unlikely to remember who I was.

Doctor, of course, was not there. He was probably especially busy now, with the first wave of visitors to town already starting to arrive. But I suspected he just hated the crowds. Not that I could blame him!

I decided to check out Kai's Beach House the next morning, after I had finished most of my regular rounds about town. I guess I must have been early; when I got there, the beach was mostly deserted aside from a few early birds.

Still, the sign outside his place read "Open", and when I double-checked the time, it seemed to be all right, so I pushed the door open a crack (the dolphin-shaped chimes hanging out front tinkled merrily as I did so), and looked in.

It was kind of a kitschy little place, painted glaringly white and decorated with wave motifs and all sorts of colorful little trinkets. I have to admit, I loved it. It lent the place a refreshing vibrancy and _character_, all without being obnoxious. I couldn't help but feel like an excited little girl on her first family outing. No wonder the kids loved him.

The owner, however, was nowhere to be seen.

I heard him soon enough, though, shouting angrily in the back. Apparently he was on the phone.

I turned to leave, thinking it would be better to come back later, when I heard a voice calling out for me. I looked back to see Kai ducking through the curtain divider that led to the kitchen.

"Oh hey! Claire, isn't it? You came!"

A part of me was deeply flattered that he not only recognized me, but already remembered my name.

"Yup," I replied, smiling. "As soon as I could. You got me hooked."

"So I did, did I?" He laughed, then made a face. "Sorry you had to witness that, though." He jerked a thumb towards the back. "Not quite the first impression I wanted to make!"

"It's all right," I assured him. After a brief moment's hesitation -- I've never been good at defusing these potentially awkward situations -- I decided to brave it and asked, "An ex?"

"Oh nah, just my old man." He made another face. "I don't really get along with my family. It's why I left in the first place." He gestured me to a seat at the bar, then slid into the spot beside me. "Lately though, they keep trying to get me to drag my ass back home."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah. Most people tell me I oughta just go back for a visit, make up with them or something. Hell if I'm ever going to return to that shithole though." A thought occurred to him. "Er, you don't think I ought to mend fences, do you?"

I suppose it would have been the proper thing to say in most circumstances. I'd certainly heard similar sentiments enough times myself, often from complete strangers who really had no business butting in. Even now I could still hear their mild accusatory tones, chiding me about duty, responsibility, filial piety, the ungratefulness of children.

So instead, I answered honestly, "Not really. Not unless you want to." The next words slipped from my mouth before I could even consider them properly. "To tell the truth, I don't get along with my parents either. They're divorced, actually. Haven't spoken to my dad in years, and I avoid contact with my mother if I can help it."

"Ah, a kindred soul then." The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

"I guess so. Though at least my mother doesn't try to track me down everywhere I go!"

"Hahaha, that's true!"

The first customers of the day began to trickle in then, and he excused himself.

I think he was right, though, in a way. We were not so similar when it came to personality -- he laughed and joked easily with his customers, snapping back at the occasional rude ones with deceptively jaunty charm. So free and easy and open a person was rare to behold. Whereas I -- even now I struggled to truly open myself up to others. I avoided social situations I felt helpless dealing with, and put on a bland, smiling mask when confronted with those I could not avoid. In fact, I had not spoken of my parents or revealed any of my past to anyone in some years. It was a part of myself I did not like to share -- not really out of any sense of shame or social stigma on my part, but because topics like these always tended to make other people uncomfortable. That and I didn't really enjoy the feeling of other people knowing too much about me, as if they had some sort of invisible hold on me that I could not control.

And yet we were drawn to each other somehow, Kai and I. I don't know what he saw in me, but I kept going back to that little shop, day after day, just to chat. I soon found out that he loved pineapples, and bought a packet of seeds from Won next door to give a try at growing them. In return, he liked to surprise me with little souvenirs from all the places his travels had taken him to.

I think I half believed it, that we were kindred souls, two restless wanderers who neither controlled nor could be controlled, living in a world that could not contain us.

o-o-o

The next time I dropped by the clinic, it was Elli who greeted me.

"Hello, Claire. How's the farm? Oh, by the way, the doctor said he wants to give you something. He's been waiting for you!"

"Um, what is it?" I asked, still wary after the hangover incident. Doctor, true to his word, had not spoken a word about testing new medicines to me ever since. Though I was glad I no longer had to worry about getting inadvertently poisoned, a part of me was disappointed. In truth, I missed those strange, meandering conversations and companionable silences we had shared just weeks ago. But there was so little time these days. Often I would rush into the clinic and dash right back out after a quick hello and dropping off my gift of the day. Sometimes I didn't even see Doctor in person for days. After all, I reasoned, I was busy tending the fields, watching over my animals, and negotiating with the carpenter Gotz about expanding my house and the other buildings on the property, and Doctor was busy with his studies and his patients. I hadn't even dropped by the library in some time now. I'd borrowed a few books to read at my own leisure at home; they were probably long overdue, but Mary was too kind to push me about them. (I hated taking advantage of her like that, so I made a mental note to return them as soon as possible.)

Elli laughed, though. Was it just me, or had she loosened up towards me now that I spent less time at the clinic than before? "Oh, don't worry! It's something good this time, trust me. Even I want one myself!"

I wasn't sure I found that any more reassuring, but my curiosity was piqued.

I found Doctor bent over his work as usual, a frown etched deep in his face. But when he looked up upon hearing my approach, his expression brightened immediately, though he did not quite break into a smile.

"There you are! You know I've been obsessed with experimental medicine lately, but now I think I've been looking in the wrong direction entirely. One of my old schoolmates -- he was ahead of me by a year at the university -- sent me this interesting device a while ago. He said it's quite popular in the city right now. Very different from conventional medicine, but it appears to work quite well."

"A device...?"

"Yes," said Doctor, taking out this big blue... thing from his desk drawer.

I will not confess to the very inappropriate association that flashed across my mind at that moment. (It really did bear an unfortunate resemblance. There are very few _devices_ shaped in quite that same awkward form, and for a moment I literally did a double take, not sure if he were really about to suggest what I thought he was about to suggest...)

Doctor either did not notice or else completely misinterpreted the blush that arose on my face.

"It's called an Ion Conductor -- used as an aid in the Negative Ion Therapy my schoolmate's been promoting. Supposedly if you keep it with you, it helps you relax."

He immediately launched into a long and convoluted explanation about ions and the similarly relaxing atmosphere in the mountains, and the strange changes that occur in the cellular structure of ancient trees, and... something.

I couldn't really concentrate on his explanation, distracted as I was by the dirty, dirty thoughts I was having at the moment.

"Do you... like it?" he asked, somewhat anxiously.

There was no way I could answer that with a straight face.

He said then, subdued, "I... I thought it was the least I could do. After last time..."

"Oh -- oh. I do like it. Very much. It seems very interesting!" I hated the way I sounded, girlish and phony and _stupid_. How could I tell him just how touched I was at his gesture -- how much I missed talking to him about things like the local legends of the Harvest Goddess, or the relationship between soil chemistry and yearly rainfall, or the difficulties of catching fish with your bare hands, and the history and uses of the various medicinal herbs that grew in the area. That I really hadn't minded, being his test subject. (Why couldn't we have just laughed off the incident and left it at that, I wondered?) And that his gift was really kind of suggestive in all the wrong ways and in any other situation it might have been _hilarious_, but now, now...

"I'll go home now and try it right away!"

I said that, blushing madly all the while, but when I got home, I stuffed it deep inside a trunk of old clothing I had brought from my old apartment and promptly forgot about it.

o-o-o

I was utterly unprepared for the typhoon that struck about a week later. There had been warnings on the nightly weather report, to be sure, and yet -- I must have gotten cocky about my smooth success up to that point. Oh, I'd made the basic preparations we were all schooled in from day one, setting aside a radio, flashlights and batteries, bottled water and non-perishables. I'd made sure to lock in my animals and secure my tools in the shed, even covered my more delicate crops with tarp.

When the storm hit, I huddled in my covers in the darkness with my shivering puppy, listening to the house shake all around me, hoping that my uncovered crops would not receive too much damage.

No amount of preparation could have steeled me, however, for the sight that awaited me when it was next safe to venture out.

I learned later that it was not even a major typhoon. I'd always understood, intellectually, the terrifying, destructive power of nature. But it was the first time I'd truly witnessed it firsthand.

The next few days passed in a blur of mud and debris and sun, shining cruel and hot overhead. In all my obsessive planning, I had failed to account for contingencies such as this. A stupid, stupid oversight, though there was nothing I could do about it now. Nothing but do everything I could to set things right again. If I ended up in debt by the year's end -- I refused to let myself think about what would happen then.

It was like starting over again from square one, except worse. I was lucky that the barn, stable, and coop were relatively untouched, indescribably relieved to see my animals upset but unharmed. But there were fences to be repaired, seedlings to be rescued, rocks and scattered branches to remove. Some of the damage could not be undone; the small patch of pineapples, for instance, was unsalvageable. Other areas of the field were so badly flooded despite the constant post-storm sunshine that I could not reuse them. Worst of all was the seawater that had accumulated, not only in the fields, but my well. I did not have the means to easily drain the salt from the soil; all I could do was ascend the mountain each day for buckets of water from the lake or the Goddess Spring and do what I could by hand.

And, well, it wasn't so much that I forgot to eat as I simply lost all appetite for food, and even the energy to care. There was simply no _time_.

Not until Friday did it occur to me that I had not visited Kai in some time, and I realized that I owed him an explanation and apology for my long absence, though he'd probably pieced it together already anyway. Like I said, news traveled fast, and Zack the deliveryman had already been over earlier that week to survey the damage and offer his sympathies. My farm hadn't been the only one hit badly. In fact, Kai's diner had probably suffered for a while as well; there probably wouldn't be many tourists around anymore for some time.

I forced myself away from my work and made my way blearily down to the beach. The sand, normally gleaming white, was peppered with kelp and driftwood, and some stranger things, a car tire here, a smashed watermelon there, cardboard and styrofoam tangled with ribbon. I noted vaguely that my hands were blistered and raw, worse than they had been even when I'd first started out on the farm. My vision seemed to flash with every step, but I ignored both that and the throbbing headache that had been plaguing me since noon. It was just a quick visit before I went back to work, after all. A glass of ice water in the cool air-conditioning of Kai's diner would do wonders.

He was taking a smoke break on the bench outside, as he usually did after the busy lunch hour, and greeted me with a smile and a wave.

It wasn't until I heard him shout, "Claire!" that I realized that my knees had given way under me.

o-o-o

I drifted in and out of awareness, barely conscious of my feet stumbling down the street. A surge of cool air against the heat rising from the pavement. Kai's wide, callused hands holding me steady. A pair of dry, cooler hands brushing aside the hair on my forehead with a firm, practiced touch. I closed my eyes.

"Heat exhaustion," I heard someone saying after a while.

" -- be okay?"

" -- heat wave the past few days. She's not the first --"

Ah, Doctor. Of course.

I opened my eyes again, feeling my head begin to clear. Doctor was speaking with Kai. I tried standing, but another wave of dizziness overcame me. They both looked over at the clatter, and Kai rushed to my side with a look of concern on his face.

"Take it easy, now. Doc says you'll be fine, you just need some rest."

"That's right," said Doctor, without a single hint of emotion in his voice. "A healthy meal and some sleep. No more work today."

I opened my mouth to protest. "But --"

"No buts." With that he turned and retreated through the curtain separating his office space from the sickbed.

Kai clasped my hands in his own. "Feeling better?"

I nodded.

He seemed unconvinced, for he did not let go.

"You've probably been pushing yourself because of the typhoon. It happens. But don't forget it's okay to ask for help sometimes, all right? You're always working so hard on your own all the time. You deserve a break every now and then, yeah?"

I nodded again. I didn't trust myself to answer.

He patted my shoulder. "Cheer up, okay? I hate to see you getting down on yourself like this. Oh -- I know! Here." He reached behind his head to untie a pendant hanging about his neck.

It was an iridescent shell charm, chipped and worn smooth over time, still warm to the touch.

"My lucky charm," he explained. "I brought it along with me as a keepsake of my hometown. But I'd like you to have it now."

I looked at him, both startled and touched. "I couldn't possibly..."

"Nah, it's all right." His eyes crinkled in a grin. "I'm a pretty lucky guy by nature, so I don't really need it!"

He must have known that wasn't what I meant, but I did not press the issue.

"Thank you, Kai," I whispered, running my fingers over and around the shell.

I think he understood that I wasn't talking about just the charm, and that it was about all I could voice out loud at the moment. He gestured for me to turn around. I did so, and he brushed the hair away from my nape and tied the charm for me.

He smelled of oranges and cigarettes and the sea.

"There you go," he said. "Promise me you'll rest well now, 'kay?"

I promised.

o-o-o

I still remember the first time I failed a test at school. I'd always been at the top of my class, all the way through elementary school and junior high. In the high school entrance exams I'd placed sixth in the nation, and I ended up going to the best school in my district.

I'm not sure what happened then. Maybe the pressure finally got to me, or maybe I simply started losing interest in keeping up the pretense of being a good student. I'd never had to struggle to maintain my grades, and it was the same in high school -- except one day I walked into class on the morning of an important exam and realized that I hadn't been paying attention to lectures in months.

When the test results came out the following week, I knew, even before I looked at the bulletin, from the whispers of my classmates and the teachers' awkward glances, that I'd bombed it.

I was called in for conference after conference, grilled on the details of my personal life (was I having family troubles? boyfriend problems? had I taken up with a bad crowd?), but in the end the teachers were left as puzzled about it as I. In the end it was waved aside as an anomaly, given my previous unblemished record. They didn't even call my mother in, and soon enough the incident was forgotten.

I remembered. I remembered, when I saw that watermelon lying smashed on the beach, glistening red juice trickling from beneath the cracked shell, sticky against dark sand, seeded flesh already beginning to rot under the relentless sun.

o-o-o

After Kai left, I lay back down, listening to the low hum of the air conditioner, the ticking of the clock, the creaking of the chair and the scratching of a pen in the room next to me. Eventually, the soft tones of a woman's voice disrupted the relative silence. Another creak, footsteps. I climbed out of bed and peeked through the curtains.

Sure enough, Doctor was gone. Another quick look confirmed that he had either gone out or upstairs with Elli to retrieve something.

I slipped quietly through his office and out the front door.

o-o-o

Karen had, sometime before the beginning of summer, declared Friday night to be Ladies' Night Out. It was usually just Karen, Mary, and I, and occasionally Ann, when she wasn't too busy busing tables. After summer started, Kai came down from his room to join us sometimes, but a brief scan of the room revealed that tonight he had turned in early.

A dash of guilt struck me, but I ignored it.

Mary greeted me with a worried look on her face. "Good evening, Claire. Are you sure it's okay for you to be here?"

I wondered how many people had already heard of what had happened. I tried to remember how many people had been at the beach at the time -- before recalling that I had so conveniently timed my collapse to coincide with gossip hour at Rose Plaza.

But I smiled and shook my head. "It's all right. I'm not planning to get wasted tonight."

I definitely didn't want a repeat of my birthday, as entertaining as it had been. Some parts of it, anyway.

And it wasn't like spending the night hanging out with friends constituted _work_.

Karen, though, had apparently gotten a head start already. "Aw, come on, Claire. Just a little sip or two shouldn't hurt, right?"

I probably should have known better to agree.

o-o-o

"I wonder why I even came here."

I wasn't _that_ drunk, but the words burst out from me without warning regardless, more bitter than I had intended -- the first thing I had really said all evening.

Karen grew uncharacteristically quiet. Mary, ever sensitive to the atmosphere, hurriedly said, "If you'd rather head back..."

"Not here. _Here_. This town." I gestured at the rest of the room. "I shouldn't have come. I don't know what I was thinking. It would have been easier to deal with all the crap back in the city."

"Is that what you thought?" Karen snapped. "That you could just saunter in here, take it easy, make a comfy little life for yourself --"

"Karen..."

"Of course not," I said, rather heatedly. "I knew farm life would be difficult. I knew the risks it entailed. But how the hell was I supposed to know I was going to be taking over -- that, that dump of a place?"

"Oh, you _knew_, did you? Easy for you to say. Until now, you haven't run into any real problems, have you? And now, at the first sign of trouble, you're just gonna bolt? Do you have any idea how much everyone else's lost too? Down at the chicken farm a whole coop of newborn chicks got blown away in the storm, just like that! Even the store -- half our shipments from last week were destroyed!"

"That's not what I meant --"

"You know what? If you want to leave, why don't you? Why don't you just get out of here and go back to your big city, wherever the hell it is you came from? We don't need someone like you here. You can just up and leave whenever the hell you want anyway, can't you? Just ask Kai to take you with him!"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ann hurrying over to break up our fight, but Karen was already storming off.

I slumped and stared stonily at my glass.

For some reason, Mary did not leave, but instead hovered nervously at my side. "Umm, Claire?"

"What?"

She hesitated again. "This probably isn't what you want to hear at the moment, but... even though Karen was a bit out of bounds there, um. So were you."

When I didn't reply, she continued, "Um, she didn't really mean that, though. What she said. It's just... she's always wanted to leave town herself. She's always dreamed of going to school in the city. To study music, you know?"

I looked up. "I didn't realize..."

"When Aja left four years ago, Karen was going to go with her. She'd applied to a few schools in secret, and actually got accepted. But the night before, her parents caught her sneaking out. Sasha ripped up the acceptance letter."

"Sasha did?" Karen's mother -- cool, collected, ever-sensible Sasha -- had never struck me as the type to do something like that.

"Well, it wasn't Sasha's fault either. Just... a heat of the moment thing. They've always wanted Karen to inherit the store, you see? And when they found out that Karen had just been planning to leave without even a word, I imagine they must have been pretty hurt."

Oh, Mary. Sweet Mary with her novelist's keen eye for human relationships and quiet way with words.

"In the end, though, it was Karen herself who decided to stay."

With that closing remark, she excused herself, leaving me alone to mull over everything I had learned.

o-o-o

I left the inn earlier than I usually did. By the time I reached my house, the sun was beginning to set at last.

Someone was waiting at my doorstep, half-cloaked by the dim shadows of dusk. Zack, perhaps? But Zack should have left with the day's shipment hours ago.

As I approached, I realized that it was Doctor.

My footsteps slowed.

He was staring into space, absently petting my puppy, who had apparently wandered over to play and was now dozing in his lap.

"Doctor?"

He blinked and looked up at me. "Where have you been?" he demanded quietly.

I dared not ask how long he had been waiting there.

"None of your business," I muttered, and tried to maneuver my way past him to the door.

He stood with surprising agility for a man with a dog in his arms and grabbed my wrist as I reached out for the knob.

"You slipped out when I wasn't paying attention. While you were supposed to be under my care. How is that none of my business?"

"I was feeling better."

"I should have been the judge of that. Not you."

I tugged my wrist from his grasp in a single vicious movement. His arm dropped back down to his side. "I think I can tell whether or not I'm feeling well perfectly fine on my own."

"Can you really?" He stooped and set down my puppy before rising to face me again. His voice was colder than I had ever heard it. But soon the rising edge of anger in his tone became unmistakable. "You need to take better care of yourself! What will you do if you just collapse in the middle of the fields one day, with no one around to call for help? You're lucky Kai was around today, but next time, you may not be so lucky!"

The shell charm burned against my chest. I reached for the knob again. As I did so, I tripped over a brown paper bag that had been sitting to the side. A carefully prepared dinner box slid out as I steadied myself against the wall.

The instant I saw it, I _knew_.

"Claire?"

Was I crying? Damn it. _Damn _it.

There was nowhere to run.

"Claire --"

I felt his arms reach out and fold me into an awkward embrace that smelled of coffee and dog. I stood there, stiff and unresponsive, trembling in my effort to keep myself under control, fighting a silent losing battle against my tears.

But he did not let go.

"If you are -- still upset with me, tell me," he said, every word clearly costing him a great deal of effort. "If there is anything I can do..."

I shook my head. "No -- I never -- " Another wave of tears muffled my voice against his chest. "I was never upset with you."

"I thought -- I thought you would never forgive me."

"I didn't -- I wasn't mad."

He fell silent, as if processing my words and attempting to reanalyze my actions over the past few weeks in light of this new information.

At last he said, "I've been... worried about you lately. Especially since you live alone... I know how easy it is to bury yourself in your work, forget to eat..."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I made you worry. Sorry I made you come all the way down here --" I knew I was babbling again, but didn't care.

"It's only natural," he said, then hesitated. "After all, we're -- friends, aren't we?" He spoke wonderingly, as if he had never even thought it possible for a man like him to have someone he could consider a friend at all.

I wiped the last of the tears from my face, and pushed him gently away. He stepped back, still watching me intently, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," I said, and smiled. "Friends."

And if his answering smile branded itself into my heart far deeper than that of any normal friend's smile, I did not say so, or let myself dwell on it.

o-o-o

I went to make up with Karen first thing the next morning, apologizing for my insensitivity. She seemed pretty embarrassed about her outburst herself... but one well-timed mix-up between her father and a customer over incorrect pricing and a round of shared laughter later, we managed to put the previous night all behind us.

As for Doctor, I started dropping by the clinic regularly again. For the first few weeks afterwards, he insisted on giving me daily checkups, but soon enough we settled back into our old patterns. Back to _normal_. I cannot express how glad I was that all traces of that awkwardness that had been lingering between us since the incident in spring seemed to have disappeared for good. I even managed to slip teasing hints to him about that Negative Ion thing he'd given me. (So funny to see the man blush as the realization of just what that thing resembled slowly dawned on him!)

Summer was swiftly drawing to a close. On the morning of Kai's birthday, I headed down to the beach. When I got there, however, I could not find him anywhere near his usual bench.

After a few minutes of searching, I finally found him at the docks, gazing out towards the sea. I called out to him, and when he turned and saw me, he grinned.

"Hey, Claire. How's the farm?"

He asked me that every day, and I replied as I always did. "Getting back on track." Then I grinned back. "Happy birthday, by the way." I presented him with the gift I had prepared: a bandanna with a ridiculous pineapple print that Zack had found for me on sale in the next town.

"Aw, thanks!" he replied, laughing, and immediately tried on the new bandanna. "Let me guess, Popuri told you?" He struck a silly pose. "How does it look?"

"Yup. She'll probably be by later with her own gift. And it looks _very _dashing."

We spent the next few minutes laughing at each other and tossing stones at the waves.

But something seemed off about the mood that morning, and I had my own suspicions why.

"And you?" I asked after a while. "How are things with your shop?"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, the customers are dwindling now that there's only a week or so left of summer..."

Only a week or so before he left town for the next stop on his itinerary. Somewhere south, somewhere warm, he'd said once. But neither of us voiced it out loud now.

"You know," he said then. "I've been wondering for a while... I know a lot of folks in town don't like me much. I can't help it, you know? I'm just living my life the way I want to. But... doesn't it ever bother you? What they must think about you spending so much time with me, especially when you're new to the place and all? I mean, the ladies -- they love their gossip, you know. And I don't care what they think about me myself, but..."

"I don't spend nearly as much time around your place as Popuri does," I pointed out. Rick ranted about it so often that even Karen was fed up with it.

"Haha, true!"

"Seriously though, I don't mind. No point in letting what others think dictate the way I choose to spend my time."

"Ah, now that's the spirit."

We watched a pair of seagulls chase each other through the air, wheeling across the sky and over the sea.

"I wonder what made you decide to come to a place like this," he said. "It's a nice town and all, but there are plenty of other interesting places out there, you know? To live here all year long, doing the same things every week, listening to the same idle chatter day in and day out... I don't think I could stand it."

I was quiet for some time. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "It was the same, back in the city. I guess I thought maybe I ought to try something different. I thought maybe something would change, then."

One of the gulls screeched and danced away, having stolen the other's fish.

"I ought to take you out of here one of these days," said Kai. "See the world and all it has to offer."

"I can't just leave my fields to the weeds and the crows," I said, about to laugh it off as a joke, when I realized he was serious.

"You don't have to answer right away. It doesn't even have to be this year. Just... think about it, okay? I think you'd enjoy it."

He could not have known -- just what he was offering me in that one moment.

Perhaps even I did not know, myself.

o-o-o

That night I dreamed I was toiling in endless rolling fields of rice. Rice fields are flat, and I didn't even grow rice -- the local climate and terrain were unsuited for it -- but that didn't matter in my dream.

The sun was blazing overhead, and sweat poured down my face and back despite my straw hat.

Someone called for me, and I stood, wiping my hands on the front of my overalls. I flew across the vast expanse of fields, higher and higher until the neat green rows of seedlings turned into watery square patches stretched across the land, swirling into a burst of color and light.

That was when I realized that I wasn't actually rising -- but sinking. The water distorted my vision. Trees swayed upside down in the distance. The fish I had caught earlier that evening for dinner swam back and forth before my face, eyeing me balefully.

I woke gasping for breath.

o-o-o

The fireworks marking the end of the season were by far the most anticipated event of the summer. As the day drew near, the entire town grew abuzz with excitement. There were even a bunch of late-season tourists who had come especially for this night. I didn't really get the appeal myself, personally. I suppose it _is_ entertaining to watch a bunch of chemicals exploding in pretty colors in the sky, but people put up firework displays every year, anywhere you go.

I started the evening hanging out with Mary and Karen as usual. Karen, at least, was as giddy as a little kid, and seeing her so excited made even me start looking forward to the show. When Rick arrived with his family, however, she ran off to reminisce happily with him about all the different displays they had seen over the years. I envied them somewhat. They had lived here all their lives, and yet could still find such joy and delight in simple things like this.

Mary was the next to go, after Gray arrived with Saibara from the smithy's. Gray approached us awkwardly, mumbling something about watching the fireworks together since his grandfather wasn't really interested in things like this (which was plainly untrue -- I could see old Saibara gesturing excitedly at Elli's grandmother Ellen some distance down the beach). Mary ducked her head and accepted his invitation. I watched them head off together with a smile. With those two, it was sometimes like watching a competition to see whose face could become redder, or who could stammer the most... I wished them all the best.

Doctor was nowhere in sight, as expected, though I had half wondered if he might not show up with Rick's family or with Elli's, or even strange young Pastor Carter from the church.

Instead I joined up with Kai and Popuri, who both welcomed me enthusiastically. Popuri was quizzing him about the places he'd been to, asking about the kinds of fireworks they put up, and if they were any different from our town's, and where and when he'd seen his favorite display. That girl was a serious challenge to keep up with (Kai managed quite easily, whereas I had to struggle), but I liked her. She reminded me of my own little sister.

It was growing darker. Kai suggested that we move in closer for a better view, and we readily agreed.

As we drew closer to the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar dark head bobbing down the steps from the plaza in the distance. I excused myself from Kai and Popuri, and without thinking, broke into a run.

"Doctor!"

At the sound of my voice, he turned and smiled.

"You're late," I said, when I managed to catch my breath.

"Yes, I was finishing up some work at the clinic."

We stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then, in tacit agreement, we began to walk again, side by side. We wandered here and there, waving and nodding at the people who called out to us in greeting.

In time, we found ourselves alone at the docks. A piercing whistle sounded, signaling the start of the fireworks. I kicked off my shoes and sat down at the edge of the pier, dangling my bare feet over the water; Doctor sat down beside me, though he kept his shoes on. The breeze ruffled his hair; I had to resist the urge to reach out and pat it down.

The colors of the fireworks bled into the inky night sky, more vibrant than any other display I had ever seen. Each flash lit up the dark waves, like strange, crystallized moments in time.

Strange, how clear everything seemed in those moments between darkness and light.

o-o-o

The night before he was set to leave, I found Kai strolling along the edge of the sea. I hurried to catch up to him. The surf brushed against my face, salty and cool.

When he noticed me, he stopped, waiting.

"Done packing already?" I asked when I reached him.

"Yeah. Don't have much to take with me, see." He shrugged and grinned.

I hesitated. "About what we talked about the other day..."

He waited.

"I think..." I stopped again, struggling for the words. "It's not all that bad sometimes, tying yourself down to one place, one community, one set of familiar faces. It's not always -- a burden. At least -- I think I'd like to give it a try. Just this once. I've never really given myself fully to anything before. I'd like to try -- and see what happens."

He nodded slowly, understanding.

I reached in the pocket of my overalls for the shell charm he had given me. "I think... I should give this back to you."

But he shook his head, reached out and closed my fingers around it.

"I told you, didn't I?" he said with a wry grin. "I don't need it. I'm a lucky guy."

There didn't seem to be much left to say after that.

As I walked away, he suddenly called out after me. "My offer still stands, you know! Should you ever change your mind -- "

I turned. "Thank you, Kai. Thank you --"

I don't know if he heard me, but he smiled and waved, and I knew then that it was over.

It was not farewell. We both knew we'd meet each other again. We'd see each other next year, and the year after that, and maybe even the year again after -- but who could say what kind of people we would have become by then? Perhaps one of us would have changed, perhaps both, perhaps neither.

But we would never again be as we were tonight, Kai and Claire at the edge of the sea, with the whole world lying before us.


	3. Autumn

**Disclaimer applies.**

**Notes:** Doctor you dork!

* * *

_**3. Autumn**_

The first signs of autumn came not with the leaves changing overnight, setting the mountain and entire countryside ablaze with color, but with the blue mageflowers that seemed to sprout into full bloom out of nowhere, filling the streets with coquettish charm.

Doctor seemed fond of those flowers, which only grew in the immediate area, and fonder still of the rarer red strain. They were said to have numerous beneficial properties, without any of the usual toxic side effects that went hand in hand with medicinal herbs -- like a Holy Grail of medicine. On Wednesdays we went up Mother's Hill together in search of specimens, and though we never did manage to find one (I heard from Mary that Basil had slightly more luck -- after a week of haggling, he'd bought a valuable packet of seeds from Won and hoped to cultivate them himself), those chilly, brief morning hours never seemed like time wasted.

The first weekend of the new season was the annual Music Festival, organized by Pastor Carter at the church. Carter came calling on the morning the day before the festival, asking if I'd like to participate. I tried to excuse myself -- I'd taken piano lessons briefly as a child, but quit as soon I possibly could. It wasn't that I hated music; rather, I detested the teacher and couldn't be bothered to practice.

I remember that my decision to quit then had become the first disappointment of many for my mother.

Carter managed to talk me into it, though. Convinced me that it didn't matter, that I could just play the ocarina -- didn't require any skill at all, and I wouldn't be playing alone anyway, and they were in need of a fifth...

There are times when I wonder if I am not too nice for my own good, despite everything.

We spent most of that afternoon rehearsing before the actual performance in the evening. Mary was on the organ, and Elli and Ann both on recorders. (I assume he didn't ask Popuri to help out because there was no way he could manage to get her to sit still for an entire afternoon.) But it was Karen who was the real star of the show.

It wasn't exactly the first time I'd heard her sing; when she got really drunk she had the tendency to start belting out old-fashioned drinking songs at the bar, expecting the whole room to join in with her (and they often did, except for Mary, who'd go off and hide in a corner, face red as a tomato) -- but I don't think that counted.

She had a rare, powerful voice, raw and bold and expressive, but softened at the same time by an unexpected warmth and tenderness. I could see now why Carter hadn't cared whether or not the rest of us could actually play -- by the time we were done with the first song, the entire audience was in tears, and at the end of the last song, everyone was standing and dancing and clapping to the music.

That was something that took not just talent, but real passion. And not for the first time since we'd made up, I wondered why she had chosen, in the end, to stay.

After the concert ended, we all bundled up and trekked over down to the inn to have a few rounds of drinks -- of course.

Prim Elli and tomboyish Ann, normally as different as night and day, giggled together over something cute Cliff's pet bird had done earlier. Gray, having escaped his grandfather's hawkish supervision, was awkwardly complimenting Mary on her organ performance, and Mary was blushing so much I was worried her head might explode. (Mary's mother Anna was giving Gray the Eye.) Karen and Rick were studiously ignoring each other -- Karen by downing shot after shot and engaging in loud, boisterous banter with Duke from across opposite sides of the room, Rick by nursing a mug at his usual seat at the bar.

(Doctor wasn't there -- of course.)

I stayed in the corner chatting with Popuri, who, like Ann and Mary, was still underage but didn't need any alcohol in her system to get her going. But soon enough, it grew dark, and people began to leave. Rick, apparently deciding that it was past bedtime for his kid sister ("I'm not a _child_ anymore, Rick!"), dragged Popuri off with him. With them went Carter with little May and Stu (whose bedtimes had _definitely_ long passed) and Mary with her parents. Manna, having lost her primary conversation partner (imperious Anna -- I'm not sure how those two managed to even stand each other, except maybe by just talking _past_ each other all the time), dragged off Duke before he and Karen could do any further damage. And Ann took the opportunity to excuse herself to take dinner up to Cliff, who had withdrawn to his room upstairs early on in the evening.

Leaving behind a rather awkward assortment of people.

Seeing as how Karen was busy drinking herself into a stupor now that Duke and Rick were gone -- and I was not looking forward to the results of _that_ -- I decided to take her home. Elli came over and offered to help, since she lived just right next door to the general store. I looked at her doubtfully. Her face was still flushed with alcohol, and she didn't seem entirely steady on her feet. But I knew from experience that Karen could be quite a handful, and figured I could use any help I got, so I accepted.

For the first leg of our trip back we were mostly quiet. Well, except for Karen, who seemed to want to break out into song every few steps we took. I considered that the better option to her just conking out on us, though, and counted my blessings.

As the clinic came into sight, however, Elli spoke up.

"Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you... are you..." She seemed to change her mind about something. "Did you know? Doctor's birthday is coming up!"

I relaxed. "Is that so?"

"Mmhm! End of next month. I wish I knew what to get him..."

She looked as if she expected me to reply.

"Well, what kinds of things does he like? Books maybe?"

"I don't know what he likes to read, though. Aside from all that academic stuff -- and he can just go to the library for that."

That was true. Though ours was a small library, it was well-stocked thanks to Mary's efforts.

"Anything on TV?"

"I don't think he watches it."

"Music?"

"I've never heard him listening to any."

"You could ask your grandmother to knit him something, or ask Zack if there's been any interesting shipments lately. I'm sure the doctor would appreciate anything practical or useful you come across."

"I don't know..."

"A giant robot panda that goes kaboom!" suggested Karen, very helpfully.

"Not what _you _want for your birthday, what the _doctor_ wants," I said. Elli giggled a bit, and luckily I was saved from thinking up further suggestions then by the sight of Sasha waiting furiously under the old tree at the front of the general store.

"Karen!" said her mother in a voice that clearly meant _business_.

Elli and I took one look at each other, and immediately scurried off to leave Karen to fend for herself. (Even drunk she was much better at dealing with an angry Sasha than anyone else in town was. Must have been in the blood.)

But as I headed back home, I wondered why it felt like I had just finished slogging through a violent battlefield myself. And if so, who had won the battle, what the battle had been all about in the first place, and if I had even wanted to win it.

It didn't occur to me until much later that I should have just told her to ask Doctor what he wanted herself.

o-o-o

Only a few days later, Elli came to greet me at the door when I dropped by the clinic.

"Oh, Claire. Do you have a moment? Something is wrong with the doctor. He seems to be troubled with something, but he won't tell me what's going on..." She sounded so frantic that my heart began to beat faster. Her hands were clasped tightly before her, but her fingers were fiddling with the front of her dress. "If it's okay with you... Can you please go talk with him for a while?"

"Of course," I replied with genuine warmth. "I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, thank you so much." The relief in her voice, I think, was equally sincere.

Elli had been fretting so badly that I was actually surprised when I slipped past the curtain and saw Doctor sitting there, lost in thought but looking otherwise none the worse for wear.

She was right, though, about there being something off in his demeanor: he was so distracted by invisible dust motes in the air that he didn't even notice me coming in.

I approached his desk slowly.

"Hello, Doctor," I said in a low voice.

He jumped a little at my voice before relaxing. "Oh, it's you."

I hesitated. "Is something the matter? Elli's been worried about you."

"Elli's worried? Ah... I didn't mean to make her worry." He frowned. "I was just thinking about something."

"Something?"

He looked at me as if deciding what to say. Finally, he looked away, his eyes settling on the notes scattered across his desk. "Well, about the way I communicate with my patients. I have a tendency to make people uneasy, I believe..."

I could see how his odd sense of humor might throw people off at times, but uneasy? Did he really think he was that bad? Or was he really that stiff with people other than me?

I realized suddenly that I did not know. Aside from Lillia and Ellen -- and Karen's hypochondriac father Jeff, once or twice -- I had never really seen him interacting with his other patients, or with people he did not know very well.

And indeed, I recalled now, there were times when he seemed to forget that he wasn't the only person in the room, or times when he talked to people as if he were talking to a wall, and times when he got... carried away.

"I suppose I've been wondering how to change that," he said then. "What about you? What do you think?"

Oh dear.

"You're asking the wrong person, you know," I said with an uncomfortable little laugh.

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "You're on good terms with everyone in town, and back in the summer you and Kai seemed to be getting along very well..." He trailed off, his train of thought apparently leading elsewhere.

"That," I said, "was different."

He seemed to accept that. "I don't understand, though. I find it very easy to talk to you. Did you know --" he cocked his head, frowning slightly, "I've never told anyone this much about my personal concerns. I wonder why..."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I said, hastily, "I'm very honored." Then I added, more slowly, "I think... perhaps it is a matter of opening your heart to others. Before I came here, I always closed my heart to everyone else. Like you, I never revealed anything about myself. I hid behind layers of smiles and courtesy. Maybe I was trying to protect myself? I'm not sure. But lately, I've been trying to open up a little more, bit by bit. It's not always easy, but..."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "That does make sense. 'Give and you will receive.' Something like that?"

This time when I laughed, it was not forced. "You've been spending too much time with Carter."

Doctor and Carter were actually fairly good friends, I'd learned. I wasn't quite sure why, as their conversations with each other never seemed to make any logical sense whatsoever, although Doctor seemed to find Carter amusing company, and likewise Carter, with his strange God and curious beliefs, seemed to find in Doctor a ready-made audience for his convoluted morality tales and occasional out of the blue ghost stories. I suppose it made sense to _them_, and that's all that really mattered.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked.

"Not at all," I replied. "But see? You can communicate with Carter just fine, can't you? You don't make each other uncomfortable."

"And you," he reminded me.

I nodded. "And me."

"I see," he said. He looked up from his notes, and for the first time that day, smiled. "Thank you! I feel much better now. I'll keep what you said in mind."

And for the first time since I'd left the city, I wondered if I, too, had truly begun to change.

Elli was waiting for me when I headed back to the lobby area.

"How was it?" she asked anxiously.

"Seems he was worried about how he comes across to his patients. He's better now, though."

She released the breath she had been holding.

"I'm a little jealous," she admitted quietly. "In all the time I've known him, he's never confided in me like that before... I guess he just needed the distance of an outsider's perspective. Oh! I didn't mean --"

I shook my head and smiled. It didn't bother me as much as I'd thought it would, that some of the townspeople still thought of me as an outsider. Because some of them still did, I knew, despite Doctor's impressions. It may have seemed like a long time, but I had been living there barely more than two seasons, only half a year, after all. And by now I thought I was beginning to understand Elli well enough to know that she had _intended_ no deliberate harm by the slip.

But in that instant I suddenly understood a little better an offhand remark my mother had once made, so many years ago, about proximity breeding not closeness, but contempt. I had always chalked it down as a cynical commentary on her failed marriage and a reflection of her general negative outlook on life, which I had always resented. But it wasn't that familiarity bred contempt either, necessarily. For that, there must have already existed contempt to begin with, whether in your heart or the other party's...

Rather -- seeing each other every day, working together all the time, one eventually begins to take the other for granted.

I wondered if Doctor would ever come to take me for granted. Or I, him.

o-o-o

Fall was easily the busiest time of the year. Between all the crops to be harvested and all the inventorying that needed to be done for winter, it was a wonder anyone had the time to socialize. But socialize we did, at the numerous festivals that took place throughout the season.

First of these was the Harvest Festival itself.

The day before, I dropped by the clinic at around lunch, munching on a slice of frozen pizza from the store. It was quite rude, I knew (not to mention, it was a fairly uncommon import, and I probably should have saved it for when I could actually sit down and enjoy it properly), but I was pressed for time again lately, and I was trying to remember to eat and not overwork myself as I had before.

Doctor took one look at me and said, "That's bad for you, you know."

I grinned. "Says the man who's always guzzling coffee."

He actually preferred tea, but there _were_ times when I smelled him brewing stronger substances instead. Like now.

"It's only an occasional indulgence," he protested.

"Do you see me gobbling up pizza every day?"

He considered this for a moment. "No," he admitted. He leaned back in his chair, suddenly contemplative. "The coffee's an old habit from school. I used to smoke, too, believe it or not. But I quit. Maybe I should give up on the caffeine too? There has been some recent research indicating that the health benefits of caffeine may outweigh the bad, though. Of course, tea contains caffeine as well..."

I laughed at him. "All things in moderation?"

He did not quite smile, but he seemed quite amused. "I shall have to do further research into this matter."

"Anyway," I said then, "I was wondering if you plan on attending the Harvest festivities tomorrow."

"I hadn't considered it." His reply was a little _too_ fast, I thought.

But I was determined to make Doctor participate, for once, even if I had to drag him into it.

"Really?" I asked slyly. "You aren't worried that someone will bring something rotten and toss it in as a joke, leaving us all with indigestion?"

(Mayor Thomas had informed me earlier that it was tradition for every household to bring some sort of edible item to Rose Plaza on the day of the Harvest to add to a giant pot. The resulting soup was served out to everyone in a grand celebration of community spirit and yearly fruitfulness. It was a very lovely concept. In theory.)

"Nonsense. No one would ever do such a thing," he replied, but I could hear the sudden concern in his voice.

"Well, I did hear that Karen put in chocolate one year..."

He looked positively queasy. "Ah. Yes. Now I remember..." He grimaced. "Fine, you win. I'll go."

I couldn't wipe the grin from my face for days.

(As it turned out, no one brought anything strange this year, and the soup was in fact quite appetizing. Doctor relented and allowed that he _might_ make it a habit of participating every year.)

o-o-o

For the next festival, however, it was Doctor who had to remind me.

"Moon-viewing is tonight, on top of Mother's Hill," he mentioned casually.

I had completely forgotten. Back in the city, I had never bothered observing the autumnal moon festivals. My sister had been the one fond of the rice dumplings served during these occasions, not I. In fact, I'd always figured the moon festival was just another excuse to get drunk, much like the blossom viewing festivals in spring.

"There isn't any poetry involved, is there?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I happen to be a very good poet."

"Better than Mayor Thomas?" I happened to have been an unfortunate bystander at one of the mayor's impromptu poetry sessions at the inn.

He actually laughed out loud at that. "Why don't you come judge for yourself?"

How could I turn down an invitation like that?

(His poetry was indeed better than the mayor's terrible puns, and in fact quite clever in that dry unexpected way of his. What made it particularly funny, however, was the utterly clinical tone in which he recited the lines he penned. I didn't tell him that, though!)

o-o-o

A few days after the moon festival, Duke dropped by my farm and asked if I could free up some time to help him and Manna out at the winery. When I checked my schedule, I found that I could indeed squeeze out a day, and agreed, to Duke's delight. (Although the man was certainly a hard worker, and certainly fond of his grapes, and fonder still of wine, he also had the tendency to be awfully _lazy_.)

It wasn't until later that I realized that I had in fact already made plans for that day -- it was Karen's birthday, and we had been planning to celebrate at the inn that evening. Of course, the harvesting of the grapes probably wouldn't take all the way until then, but it meant I probably wouldn't have much time to change out of my work clothes and pick up her present from my house, where I had been hiding it for weeks now.

I mentioned my dilemma to Carter when I stopped by the church with a few extra fish. I'd never liked the few churches I'd happened upon in the city; they were places filled either with doom and gloom or false cheer, and neither sort particularly appealed. (And the less said about the breeds of people that tended to inhabit them, the better.) But after talking to Carter a few times over the past few months, I had found myself growing quite comfortable in his company. Something about his demeanor, I think: never forced, sometimes rather unorthodox, but always honest. It was easy to see why the townspeople were fond of him, why even Doctor found him easy to talk to. And after I learned that he lived entirely off of charity, I made it a point to bring him what foodstuffs I could, whenever I had the opportunity.

Still, I hadn't exactly meant to bring up my concerns -- they were not very serious, after all, and it was my fault in the first place for agreeing so quickly to Duke's request without double-checking the date -- and as soon as I voiced them I felt more than a bit silly.

But Carter listened to me intently all the same.

"Why don't you ask Cliff to help out?" he suggested simply, when I was done.

"Cliff?" I had given the man little thought after our first meeting some months ago. I recalled that Manna had told me he'd wandered into town last winter, but since he so rarely showed himself outside of the church or his room at the inn, if at all, and spoke to few people aside from Carter, Ann, and Doug, I must confess I found it easy to forget about him entirely.

Now that I thought of it, though, Ann had seemed a bit down in the past few weeks. I vaguely remembered her sighing over the fact that Cliff would likely have to skip town soon, as he was running out of money.

Carter smiled beatifically.

I found Cliff sitting in one of the front pews, tossing pieces of bread into the air for his bird to catch. To be honest, he kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I had actually wondered once before why he seemed content to just hang around brooding and otherwise doing nothing all day, why he did not venture out and search for a job himself. Even in my darkest moments, I don't think I would have been able to stand just sitting around without trying to do anything to change my circumstances.

I would have gone insane first.

But I remembered, too, that a year ago, five years ago, ten years ago, had I been in the same position he was in now -- how much a single kind smile, a single hand offered in friendship, would have meant to me.

When I thought of that lost little girl wandering and wandering and wandering, all alone in the darkness, it seemed only natural to walk up to that listless man-child before me and extend a lifeline to him, knowing that it did not matter whether he chose to accept or not, but only that the choice had been offered.

He accepted.

o-o-o

With Cliff's help, we managed to finish much earlier than expected. Despite any remaining skepticism I might have had, it turned out that Cliff was a very efficient worker. He was a fast learner, and good at following orders. Duke was, in fact, so impressed that he offered to take him on permanently. Manna, too, seemed quite pleased (not so much for the new employee as for the fact that she now had a new source of personal secrets to mine, I suspect -- she had more than once expressed interest in the mysterious stranger at the church who never seemed to talk to anyone), and invited us both in for tea and dinner. I declined politely, explaining that I had already made plans for the evening; then, taking pity on Cliff, who looked rather like a lamb being led to slaughter, I extended said plans to include him as well. Manna, disappointed but secure in the knowledge that she would now have plenty of opportunities to interrogate him in the future, let us go with a cheerful wave.

Cliff waited for me as I ran back home for Karen's gift and a change of clothing, and on our way to the inn, thanked me profusely, over and over again.

"Thank the pastor," I said quietly, deeply discomfited. "He's the one who suggested it."

The dual chains of gratitude and obligation were the worst fetters of all, I had always thought. I had always wondered why we could not simply give freely and receive freely in turn, but instead bound ourselves in layers of ritual and duty. But then I remembered what I had told Kai, what I had told Doctor, the vows I had made to myself, that last night in my apartment.

I stopped fighting. Stopped struggling against the yoke I had voluntarily set upon myself.

"But you're welcome. As fellow newcomers, we should help each other out after all, right?"

When he thanked me yet again, though, I had to stamp down on my urge to just _run_.

Things got much less awkward after we reached the inn. Ann rushed over as soon as she saw us at the door, asking how it had gone, and congratulating him with a sunny smile when she heard the good news. I slipped away to let them have some time to themselves and to find Mary and Karen, and the rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly.

Mary had somehow managed to get her hands on a limited edition gunpla kit (Karen squealed in delight), while I'd ordered a panda plushie from the city and outfitted it with a pink cape and plastic toy blasters.

"Sorry it isn't giant though," I said, laughing at her stunned expression.

She doubled over in laughter then as well, looking happier than she had been in many weeks.

o-o-o

That left only Doctor's birthday.

When Wednesday morning arrived, I set off to our usual meeting spot on the Hill, picnic basket in hand, stuffed with sandwiches and apples. (The apple tree in my front yard had borne fruit weeks ago, and when I'd brought him a few of the initial batch, he had asked quite solemnly if I was trying to keep him away before breaking out into a smile.)

He was already there, and met me with surprise and pleasure once I revealed the packet of red mageflower seeds I'd bought from Won. It had taken a great deal of bargaining, and there was no guarantee that they were genuine, but it was worth it, I thought, just to see that look of giddy excitement on Doctor's face.

We unfurled the tablecloth I had brought and sat down to eat, theorizing idly about what conditions it would take for the seeds to bloom. (Basil's, thus far, had not.) To my surprise, Doctor offered me half of the seeds to experiment with on my own.

I accepted.

Fallen leaves carpeted the earth in blood and fire. The branches of the trees above us stretched dark against the sky. The apples tasted crisp and sweet.

A little past noon, I saw gray clouds approaching in the distance. We stood and got ready to head back, but as I folded the cloth and packed up our leftovers, I noticed that Doctor had fallen strangely silent. I turned, thinking to say something or other, but the words died on my tongue when I saw his gaze directed straight at me.

For a brief, silly moment I thought he was staring at my (covered) cleavage before I realized that he was in fact staring at the shell charm around my neck, which had slipped out of my shirt at some point.

I flushed.

But he said nothing.

On the way back, it began to rain. Doctor, prepared as always, opened the umbrella he had brought along with him and held it out for me. I ducked underneath. Our sleeves brushed against each other; in near unison we jerked our hands away.

The silence stretched between us until all that remained was the sound of our footsteps and the patter of water above us.

o-o-o

I was at the church gates the next day with fish and well-wishes for Carter, whose birthday I had learned it was (I wondered briefly if the miraculous coincidence of their birth dates explained Carter's otherwise inexplicable compatibility with Doctor) -- when suddenly I caught sight of Elli running towards us from the direction of the beach, her face stained with tears.

I called out to her in concern. "Elli?"

But she ran past, either not hearing me, or refusing to.

She was followed moments later by Doctor.

He was not quite running, and his expression lingered halfway between perplexity and disquiet.

He did not notice me, and I found I could not bring myself to call out to him.

o-o-o

It was another week or so later when I noticed a strange atmosphere at the general store while buying chocolate for the upcoming Pumpkin Festival -- the last of the season, much to my relief -- and a few other household supplies. Jeff had a goofy grin plastered on his face as he greeted me (goofier than usual, that is), and outside I had noticed more than a few women giggling and whispering.

As I approached the register with my basket, I saw what must have been the reason for their whispers: a single blue feather on sale at the counter.

There was a local legend, I knew, about a mystical blue bird that granted marital felicity. In this area, it was essentially a requirement for any young man or woman who wished to be wed to find a single feather from said bird and present it to their desired partner, before any official arrangements could be made. Kind of similar to the way engagement rings worked in the city, but more romantic, I suppose. To me it was all the same. Ritualized traditions, symbols of promises, ultimately meaningless.

Upon closer inspection, the specimen at the counter was clearly a goose feather that had been dyed deep blue.

I suppose now I knew where they "found" those feathers.

"Who're the lucky young couple?" I asked Jeff, more out of politeness than any real interest.

"Well..." He hemmed and hawed, but I could get no straight answer from him.

Nobody outside seemed to know either, though a few names were dropped.

My next stop was the clinic. Elli's greeting was bright but forced, as it had been ever since the day I saw her running past the church, revealing nothing that I did not already know. (Doctor himself had been vague and distant when I questioned him, and suddenly uncertain, I had not pressed the issue.)

Today, however, I said, "Did you hear? Jeff's selling a blue feather over at the store today."

Doctor's head shot up. His face was bright red.

"It was -- a misunderstanding," he mumbled. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Thinking about it all rationally, I could guess at how such a misunderstanding might have come about. Even his reticence about what had happened down at the beach -- I suspected that it was not his tale to tell, and respected him for his silence.

That rational part of me, however, did not provide a reason for why the rest of me was so flustered at the moment.

I thought of the shell charm, still hanging around my neck. I thought of my mother, handing me photo after photo of acquaintances' sons, unsmiling and trussed up in stiff dark suits, and of the boys I'd dated in school.

I cared more about what other people thought than I had been willing to admit to Kai, I realized -- though perhaps I cared in the opposite way from most. I had not been the only one to witness that argument down at the beach (for it had been, apparently, an argument), and yet the conclusions I had drawn -- very _rational_ conclusions, I had thought -- were different from everyone else's. And that troubled me more than I had ever thought such a thing could trouble me. It made me doubt myself, doubt my own eyes, my own desires.

Since I was so clearly unwelcome at the moment, I bid Doctor and Elli farewell, and headed down to the church, lost in thought.

o-o-o

Carter was no help.

"Oh, Doctor? He came over earlier to confess that he accidentally revealed something personal to Manna the other day, only to find the next morning that the whole town was whispering about it! Funny, isn't it?" He beamed. "I wonder what it was he told her..."

o-o-o

In the end, the version of the tale I pieced together from various sources went something like this: Manna ran into Doctor in the streets while he was heading back from an excursion to Zack's. She immediately flagged him down as the closest available victim and roped him into a lengthy discussion about the latest drama-filled phone call she had received from her daughter Aja. It seemed Aja had gotten engaged (a fact Manna managed to both gloat over and bemoan in the same breath), and the conversation soon turned to the doctor's own marriage prospects.

"Now, you're a young fellow too now, aren't you Doctor. Getting on though. Ever given any thought to settling down? I mean you've got a nice, steady career going and you're such a good looking young man and your dear parents must be dying to see you settled. I bet that would put their hearts right at ease. I bet they'd love to have grandchildren don't you think? Oh I do hope I get grandchildren soon. That would be just grand. But really you've been here in our town some years now after all. Surely one of our daughters must have caught your eye? Hmm? Anybody special out there for you, Doctor? Don't worry, I won't tell, I can keep a secret you know!"

"Well... maybe..." said Doctor, bewildered.

And the rest was history.

o-o-o

The rest of the town soon lost interest when no further developments occurred, but Karen laughed at me about it for weeks afterwards. Even Mary struggled not to smile every time the topic came up (which was often, thanks to Karen).

I forgave them.

(I had plenty of ammo left to spare.)


	4. Winter

**Disclaimer applies.**

**Notes:** As promised, there is sexin' in this chapter, but nothing explicit. (Sorry. This is only rated T you know. :P) There is, however, a scene or two of buildup, so if you're young or uncomfortable reading about physical intimacy at all, consider yourself warned.

Many thanks to those few of you who have read up to this point for putting up with this "little" brainfart of mine. Enjoy the (lengthy) finale. :)

* * *

_**4. Winter**_

"I wonder what exactly it is you mean to me."

His remark came out of nowhere one morning, some time after the blue feather fiasco started to die down and we'd started talking again without any embarrassment involved. I blinked, wondering if I had not misheard him.

Alas, that was not the case.

"You inspire me," he continued. "You encourage me, you energize me..."

Then, as if recalling who he was talking to, he broke off with a nervous half-laugh. "Sorry. I've been thinking about some things lately."

Now what brought that on, I wonder?

o-o-o

One morning, I woke and stepped out my door to see my fields blanketed in white. My breath came out in puffs, and flakes drifted down from the gray sky. I wandered around, overcome by a sense of wonder at the stark landscape, so still and pristine. My dog, finally old enough and well-trained enough now to join me on my excursions, ran along behind and before me, barking at invisible rabbits, tracking paw prints in the snow.

I went first to the barn to milk the cows and shear the wool from my sheep, then to the stable where I had been taking care of a filly old Barley from Yodel Ranch had entrusted to me earlier in the year, and finally to the coop to collect eggs. The last of the fall harvest had been sent off in the previous week's shipment, and for the rest of the year I would have to rely on animal produce to generate a little extra income. Gray had offered to take me to the mines for ores and gems and other raw materials to sell, while Mary's family offered to take me along when they went searching for winter grasses in the mornings; even taciturn, bearlike Gotz, who lived in a cabin in the mountains by himself, had invited me -- to my surprise -- to go ice fishing once the lakes and the river froze over. I was deeply grateful to them all.

But today, I had other errands to run. I whistled for my dog and he came running, tongue lolling and tail waving back and forth in the air. I patted his head, and together, we set off down the road to Zack's place on the beach. I needed to check on the week's prices, and inquire after the status of my last shipment, and perhaps haggle with Won for some of his more unusual goods.

As we entered Rose Plaza, however, Dog barked in alarm. Through the falling snow I saw a dark, bundled shape stagger forward, and then collapse.

I ran over. It was Cliff, clothed in far too little for the weather, and clutching a crinkled photograph in his hand. It slipped out of his grasp as my dog nudged at his prone form.

"Stop that!"

I picked up the photograph, my mind racing through various options. Zack's was the closest, but he wasn't always there at this time of day (I had planned to try a little fishing at the docks while I waited), and Won was probably still sleeping. The church was the next place and perhaps the obvious choice, but there was no guarantee that Carter was in either.

"Stay here," I ordered, hoping that the stupid dog would obey instead of trying to follow me, and ran for the inn.

o-o-o

Between all the shouting and panic that ensued, I somehow managed to carry Cliff to the clinic with help from Doug and Carter -- who by some stroke of fortune had been there warming up over a cup of hot tea. Ann tagged along, as did my thankfully behaving dog. Despite the lingering awkwardness between us, I was glad to see Elli when she came to greet us at the door, alert and professional as ever. She and Doctor were always islands of sanity and composure in the chaos.

Doctor soon announced that it was a case of mild hypothermia, and that there was fortunately no lasting damage.

"Thank God he's safe!" exclaimed Carter, more expressively than I had ever seen him speak before. "What on earth was he doing?"

Ann was biting her lip and clearly trying to hold back her tears. Doug patted her shoulder comfortingly.

Doctor looked mildly annoyed -- probably just feeling awkward about all this unrestrained display of emotion -- and sent everyone away with the admonishment that his patient needed rest and quiet.

o-o-o

It wasn't until after I had finished with my errands for the day that I remembered the photograph. In the earlier confusion, I had stuffed it in my coat pocket and forgotten about it. I took it out now and looked at it. It had been torn down the middle, and the colors had long begun to fade, but the subjects were still clear enough. Two people stared out from the picture, one an older woman with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, and the other a pretty little imp of a girl who seemed to be glaring at the camera, or the photographer, or both. Not exactly the most pleasant family portrait I'd ever seen.

I wondered if it might not be better if I just pretended that it had been lost, but reminded myself then that it really wasn't any of my business, and headed back to the clinic, dog in tow.

Doctor was at the door, about to lock up for the evening. Elli was probably upstairs; she had a room at the clinic where she stayed whenever there were overnight patients. Dog seemed to want to play, and kept running around and barking at Doctor before I told him to shut up.

"He dropped something of his earlier," I explained. "I forgot to give it back."

"You could have come back tomorrow," pointed out Doctor.

"Why? Is he still asleep?"

"Not at the moment." Doctor sighed and patted the dog, who thumped his tail against the ground in appreciation. "Well, I suppose if you think it's urgent." As I stepped inside, he added, more quietly, "It was a good thing you happened by when you did."

I wasn't sure if he meant earlier, or now.

Cliff was still in bed, but sitting up and staring into space. He seemed confused when I walked in with Doctor, but his eyes lit up as I held out the photo.

"Ah... thanks... I thought I'd lost it..."

"No problem," I said. "I picked it up earlier and it slipped my mind."

"It was you who told Ann and everyone else for me, wasn't it? Thank you... I owe you a great debt. First the job, and now this..."

"Not at all. Anyone would have done the same."

I was busy thinking of the best way to excuse myself then when he said, "It was snowing when I left... I will always remember that day..."

"That day?" I asked, rather uncomfortably.

"This photo is of my mother and sister," he said. "You see... I... I didn't like it back home, so I left them to strike out on my own. But by the time I returned, my mother had died and my sister had gone somewhere... She didn't leave any word, any hint of where she had gone. I suppose I deserved it, for abandoning them like that."

_Why are you telling me this?_ I wanted to ask, but instead I forced out a polite, "No, I'm sure that's not the case."

Cliff shrugged. "I guess... This town reminds me of my old home. That's probably why I..." He broke off, then added sheepishly, "Sorry for burdening you with my story. I'm sure you didn't want to hear about it..."

"Not at all, I didn't mind."

Thus satisfied, he laid back down and closed his eyes, looking somewhat more at peace than he had been when I first walked in.

Doctor had been watching our exchange quietly, and it seemed he sensed something off about my demeanor, for he suggested then, "Shall we go out for a walk?"

I hesitated, then agreed.

o-o-o

Before we set out, Doctor changed out of his lab coat and into a heavier overcoat. Underneath, he was wearing a dark forest green sweater that Elli's grandmother had knit for him; it complimented his figure very well, but I did not say so. My dog, realizing that we were heading out again, stood up from where he had been waiting for us by the entrance with a happy bark.

By now, the snow had stopped. We headed in the direction of the beach.

"I can't really blame him," I said with halfhearted cheer. "I hate the winter too. I'm a child of the spring, after all. It's too cold for me."

"Hmm," said Doctor, whose usual denseness did not prevent him from being quite observant when it suited him.

"It's just --" I noticed Dog wandering away from us again and whistled for him.

"Just what?"

Damn him and his selective persistence.

"If he thinks that he _deserves_ all of this -- all this self-inflicted punishment, just because he thinks he abandoned his family -- I mean, does he think he's the only one who -- What about Lillia's husband? Kai? Aja? What about --" it came as a sudden shock to me to realize just how upset I was "-- me?"

We had reached the beach by now. I ran down the steps from the plaza, towards the dark waves, unwilling to face him. Dog ran with me, and then down the snow-covered shore, sniffing at rocks and sea grass.

"I ran away from home when I was sixteen."

I whirled around, surprised that he had caught up with me so soon. His gaze was sharp and intense. I could not look away.

"You did?"

"I did."

We fell silent. I watched the sea reaching out for our feet, then receding.

"I feel like I've been running away my entire life," I admitted quietly. "Even when I'm not... I'm always leaving a way out, making a Plan B, setting up an escape route, just in case..."

He did not respond, but I knew that he was listening.

"What made you decide to become a doctor?"

"At first, because I felt an obligation to follow in their footsteps. After I left -- I suppose because I was good at it."

"And now?"

"Because it felt right."

It wasn't quite the answer I had expected, and I couldn't decide if I were disappointed or relieved.

"And did you... ever go back?"

I looked up at him, and he looked back with a not-quite smile.

"By the time I wanted to, it was too late."

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"Kai offered to take me with him," I murmured then, and I felt more than saw him stiffen at my side. "I almost agreed."

"But you stayed," he said, and I could practically hear the gears turning as he pieced together his own puzzle.

"It was the first time I've ever..."

I was no longer sure what I was trying to say.

After a while, he said, "I think we must all find our own answers... There are cures that work for everyone, and some that only work for a few. For each person it's different. Because everyone's body is unique, each one responds uniquely -- it must be the same thing. Am I -- making sense?"

"Yes," I said. "I understand."

Dog trotted back over to us, something strange in his mouth. After a bit of tug-of-war, I managed to extract it.

It was a rotting old boot.

When I looked again at Doctor he was gazing out toward the sea.

I said, quietly, "Don't you -- ever get scared?"

He smiled but did not turn.

"_Always_."

o-o-o

On our way back, I stooped down on a whim and packed a loose snowball.

_Splat!_

Doctor turned with very deliberate slowness. I put on my most innocent face, though it was difficult to suppress the giggles that threatened to burst from deep inside of me. Without even changing his expression, Doctor bent down and tossed a snowball back at me that hit me square in the ribs before I could run away. My giggles escaped from me then, in gasps and heaves.

Dog barked and ran circles around us, nipping at our heels as our little fight escalated into all-out war. At last I stumbled and fell into the snow, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Dog came over and licked at my face, which tickled and only made me laugh more.

Doctor strode over and offered me a hand. I took it. When I was standing again he untied the scarf around his neck and wrapped it around mine.

I froze.

"You are going to catch a cold if you don't take better care of yourself," he said, but his eyes were dancing and I knew he was holding back a smile.

After I got back home, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the young woman staring back from the glass, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed, hair tangled and wild.

o-o-o

Whenever I think of my last boyfriend, I remember the mirror.

I'd met Jack at one of the lectures at the university, and started dating him halfway through the term. I remember he had a grandfather out in the countryside who owned a farm, but at the time that didn't matter much to me. He was nice, and he wasn't bad-looking, and when he laughed he became quite charming indeed, and that was enough for me. I knew his eye wandered sometimes, but because he was _nice_ I also knew that he had neither the balls nor the heart to take any real action, so I hadn't minded.

We broke up right before graduation. It was an amicable parting on both sides, and everyone who knew us was surprised by the suddenness of the split. When my friends at the time asked, I explained only that he had wanted more from me than I was ready to give him, and let them think what they wanted. (Everyone assumed that I had caught him cheating on me, and that was that.)

I suppose what I told them was true, in a way. Earlier that week he had asked me about my post-graduation plans, and I had been suitably vague. He told me then that his grandfather had recently passed on, and had left the farm to him, and that he was thinking of moving out to the country and taking over the place.

He'd wanted me to go with him.

At the time, I'd already passed the exams for a few of the companies I had interest in, and was, I believe, understandably reluctant to uproot myself all of a sudden and leave behind everything I knew. It wasn't really that I had any particular plans for myself, or any real dreams for the future. It just rankled me, his assumption that I would drop everything for him on the spot and follow him into the unknown.

But the real reason I broke up with him in the end was because of a dream I had one morning, exactly one month before the date of our graduation.

I was trapped in a room. There was nothing there. No door, no windows, nothing but four blank walls and a mirror. At least, I assumed it was a mirror, because it resembled the one hanging across from my bed in my apartment, but when I looked at it there was no reflection on its surface, not even the shadow of a face.

When I woke, I sat up with a start.

In that state of dim awareness I searched frantically for my reflection before me, and what I saw at last shocked me, not so much due to the sight of my still half-asleep visage (which I was quite familiar with), but because of the quiet tremor of a thought that passed in that instant through my mind: _I am turning into my mother_.

I ended it that very day.

After that, we graduated, and eventually we lost contact with each other. I found that I didn't miss him. Much later I heard from some mutual acquaintances that he had eloped with the daughter of his boss at the small company that ended up hiring him.

And now, here I was, running a farm of my own, slowly but steadily eking out a place for myself in this little town in the countryside.

Funny, the way fate works.

o-o-o

If I had my way, the annual Thanksgivings would be banned forever. (After buying all that chocolate, I was surprised I was still going to manage to break even for the year.) It took me a while to finish handing out all the obligatory chocolate to everyone who had helped me throughout the year. I'm not sure how chocolate and cookies serve as expressions of appreciation and gratitude, exactly, but I suppose I don't have any better ideas either.

At the door of the clinic, I bumped into Elli, who had just finished making her own chocolate rounds, it seemed.

"Hello, Claire," she said. "Here for the doctor?"

I nodded. "You must be too."

"Yes. I'm surprised, though. I thought you would give it to him on the hill this morning."

"Not today. I thought it would be easier to finish giving out everyone else's chocolate first."

She laughed. "I suppose that's true."

She finished unlocking the door, and let me in.

We sat down on the couches to wait.

"You're so brave," she sighed. "Trekking up the hill every day, even in such weather..."

I said quietly, "Not at all. You are much braver than I am."

Something in my voice made her turn and give me a long, cool, considering look.

"I think," I said, "we're more alike than either of us would like to admit."

She said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

"We both play our cards close. We hide everything deep inside, bury all our anger and frustration and grief someplace no one can reach, never revealing what we truly feel."

Silence.

"You're wrong," she said softly. "You can't possibly understand... how much I have envied you."

"You are a capable nurse, a caring granddaughter, a responsible older sister. Everything that I am not. Will never be."

"Yes, I would make a good wife, wouldn't I?" The quiet bitterness in her words was unmistakable.

"I envied you too. For having the courage to tell him what I could not even admit to myself."

She smiled, then. "Did you come here to mock me?"

"No," I said. "I came here to apologize."

She stood. Turned, to hide the trembling of her hands.

"I've been watching him for so long... So, so long. But he has never had eyes for me. All I ever wanted was for him to _see_ me..."

"He does see you..." I hesitated.

"I know," she whispered. "I know he does."

A click, and the door opened to reveal Doctor returning from his trip up the hill.

"Oh, you're both here," he said, and at the sight of his bemused face and wind-rumpled hair I felt a stirring in my heart, a slow deep ache filling me from within.

"Good afternoon, Doctor," said Elli, smiling sweetly again. "Here, this is for you. Thank you for everything this year."

She bowed her head in a quiet, melancholy little gesture, and left.

Doctor watched her go, wrapped box of chocolate in his hand, and sighed.

Then, recalling my presence, he turned to me. I stood and handed him the chocolate I had prepared without a word.

"Ah!" he said happily. "You remembered!"

For a moment I was confused, before remembering that he had given me cookies for Spring Thanksgiving.

Suddenly annoyed, I said, "It's handmade."

"Really? You didn't have to go to that extent..."

I was beginning to believe what my mother used to often say about men and subtlety.

"If you don't want them, then I'll take them back," I said, sticking out my tongue at him (but making no actual move to take back the chocolate), and walked out the door before he could respond.

o-o-o

That night I removed the shell charm from around my neck. I looked at it fondly.

"Thank you for lending me your luck," I whispered, and stored it away in my box of keepsakes.

o-o-o

When I went to visit Doctor the weekend after Winter Thanksgiving, I found him napping at his desk, his head propped up on a pile of books. Elli had gone next door to make lunch for her brother and grandmother, and we were alone. I'd heard that May had come down with a sudden fever the previous evening, and when I went to check on her in the morning old Barley told me that Doctor had spent the whole night at the ranch looking after her. But by then Doctor had already returned to the clinic.

And now I was here.

For some time I stood there watching him sleep, reluctant to disturb his rest. But at last I could not resist any longer, and gently shook him awake.

"Doctor. Doctor?"

His eyes fluttered open. "Elli?" he mumbled. "Is it time already?"

I decided I'd forgive him this once.

"It's me," I said, amused. "And _you_ are coming with me."

He blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes. "Claire?"

I tugged a bit harder at his sleeve, and he stood obediently and let me lead him to the front door before remembering where he was.

"Where are you taking me? I still have patients --"

"Not today you don't."

"There might be an emergency --"

"Not likely. May's doing perfectly fine now, and no one else seems to be coming down with anything."

He looked at me suspiciously, then sighed. (He seemed to sigh an awful lot lately.) "Fine. At least let me get my coat and leave a note for Elli."

It was another few minutes before we set out, bundled up in coats and gloves and scarves.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said.

"The hot springs," I said cheerfully. "Enforced break."

Doctor colored a bit -- or maybe it was just the cold -- and said little else for the rest of our trek through the town and up the hill.

Though as a town we were quite proud of our hot springs, we were too far out in the middle of nowhere to attract many tourists in this cold season -- all but the most hardcore of hot spring aficionados, that is. But at this time of day, few people, if anyone, would be around; the springs were not officially open to the public until later in the evening, and even then they were still mostly populated by locals.

There was only one unfortunate -- or perhaps fortunate, depending on your point of view -- detail about our springs: they were mixed sex baths. There were unspoken hours for men or women specifically, but not everyone adhered to those guidelines all the time.

I suspect I was in a particularly daring mood.

Upon our arrival, we went in separately to undress and wash. When I finished and entered the spring, shivering in a towel and blanketed by billowing steam, I saw that Doctor was already there, soaking at the far end of the pool.

I slipped into the water at my end, respecting his desire for distance. After braving the biting chill of the climb up, it was pure bliss to sink back into the warm, lapping embrace of the spring.

That said, it was taking me a great deal of self-restraint to keep from splashing over and pouncing him on the spot.

In fact, the distance was unbearable. We couldn't even hold a proper conversation like this.

(Maybe that was the point.)

Caught between irritation and nervousness, I finally began to wade closer to where he was.

I hoped he was panicking. If he was, though, his face did not show it. (Although it also seemed that he was deliberately keeping his gaze away from my direction.)

I stopped just far enough that he could hear me.

"Feeling better?"

He nodded slowly. After some time, he said, "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why now? What brought this on?"

Forget pouncing him, I kind of wanted to _kick_ him.

But I didn't.

"Hm. I suppose... I'm in the middle of running a little experiment," I said.

_That_ comment seemed to occupy him for a while. But still he continued to refuse to even look directly at me, and after far too much time had passed, I decided to give the experiment up as a failure. (I may be a planner at heart, but I am not always the most patient one, I must admit.) I rose from the water, wrapped my towel around myself, and headed back into the cabin to change.

Only to realize that he had followed me.

I pulled my towel back up as he crossed the distance between us. Closer and closer he stepped, until we were standing face to face, and I realized that I had backed up against the wall.

He whispered, "You give up too easily."

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

He tasted like tea today, and mint toothpaste, and I could feel his skin burning through the layer of towel between us. I threaded my fingers through his hair, still damp from the steam, and closed my eyes. My heart was pounding, and I was half certain that when I opened my eyes again I would find that I was only dreaming, that the fumes had gotten to my head, or maybe that I was having that nightmare about Mayor Thomas again.

We broke apart for air, my arms still wrapped around his neck, his hands still pinning me to the wall. He had somehow managed to free my hair from its tie when I wasn't paying attention -- I could feel the loose strands tickling my cheek, fanning out behind my neck and tangling against my shoulders -- and he had that intense look of concentration I recognized from when he was particularly engrossed in his reading. It amused me to think that I was a text in his hands, waiting for my covers to be cracked open, for my pages to be turned and the words written within me to be read and deciphered.

"I hope --" he said, breath short and ragged, "that you've proved your point."

"Was it that obvious?" I asked innocently, when I had caught my own breath again.

He didn't answer. Smart man.

After a while, I said, "You know, we should probably go. Before someone else comes up and finds us here."

"My place," he murmured against my bare shoulder.

"Mine's closer," I said, allowing the question to leak into my voice even as I bit back a gasp.

He lifted his head to study my expression as his fingers continued their downward trail. "They won't talk as much about a patient staying overnight at the clinic as they will about a unattached man staying over at the house of an unattached woman."

"In that case, please take good care of me, Doctor." I giggled and batted away his hands to put on some clothes. He followed suit, a slight smile playing about his lips.

The walk back down to the clinic was not at all cold, despite the snow that began to drift into our hair and eyelashes, feathery light. We kept each other at a respectful distance, but I could feel the heat emanating from his body, just steps away from me. And when we ran into old Saibara on the way, Doctor got his revenge on me by explaining to him, rather pointedly, that I was feeling "a bit out of sorts", and that he was therefore shepherding me back to the clinic to "rest". Saibara, still sharp despite his age, chuckled and hoped quite loudly that my recovery would be swift.

o-o-o

Elli had gone home and locked up behind her. Doctor fumbled for a few moments at the entrance for his keys; we squeezed through the door in a jumble of arms and legs, removing first our boots, and then our coats and gloves. Doctor unraveled his scarf from his neck, then reached out to help with mine. He smoothed out our articles of clothing and laid them out on the couches in the waiting room, then led me upstairs.

His room was spacious and austere and looked much as I had expected it to. His desk stood in the corner, tidy and neat, and beside it was a bookshelf filled with medical texts and a stray mystery novel or two. His wardrobe and bed were in the opposite corner, and to the side was a glass coffee table framed by a set of elegant black leather sofas. Softening the effect were the rug, and the walls, both colored in soothing green patterns.

Karen would probably laugh at me if she knew that I was busy admiring the man's _room_ of all things at a time like this. I think Mary would understand, though. The way any individual maintains their personal space or immediate surroundings speaks volumes about the kind of person they are, perhaps even more so than the company they keep.

Not that I had much time to be standing around in admiration. Now that we were in the safety of his room, Doctor kissed me again and began to busy himself with more important matters. His fingers found the straps of my overalls and slipped them from my shoulders. Then his hands trailed lower, down my back, against my hips. I took the opportunity to begin working on his vest. He released his hold on me then to let me step out of the clothing that had begun to pool around our ankles. By the time we reached his bed, I had tossed aside his shirt and was running my hands all over his bare chest, smug as a cat.

Halfway through unbuttoning my own shirt, I remembered something.

"Oh!" I blushed. "I should go down to the store -- but they're closed by now, maybe I can ask Karen..."

The general store was the only place in town that carried condoms.

(Naturally, that meant Karen, as the daughter of the proprietors, was aware of any and all or at least most sexual goings-on in town, as she had boasted many a time, always delighting in informing Mary and me whenever Manna and Duke were having make-up sex after a particularly bad fight, or whose husband was sleeping on the couch for the week, and other things we _really_ didn't need to know...)

"No need," he said with an embarrassed cough. He climbed off the bed and bent down to pull out a hidden drawer, revealing an entire _collection_.

"Hmmm," I said. "So do you bring up every pretty patient who drops by the clinic?"

"I do _not_. That would be highly improper of me. Not to mention utterly irresponsible --"

He looked at me and realized I was joking.

Sighing, he explained, "My old schoolmate from the city sends me a box every year for Starry Night. He's always doing that kind of thing. Remember, the one who sent the -- " A second realization struck him. "I am going to _kill_ that bastard the next time I see him."

I kissed him then, because as funny as I was finding this, I could see he was getting distracted, and that simply wouldn't do.

That worked well. Perhaps too well.

I squirmed out of his grasp, flushed and laughing.

"One last question, then," I said.

"What?" His hair was distractingly tousled, and he sounded distinctly annoyed at the interruption.

"I... I'd like to know your real name." I hesitated, then grinned mischievously. "That is, unless you would _prefer_ me to call you Doctor --"

This time it was his turn to silence me with a kiss.

As he leaned over to unhook my bra, he whispered the answer in my ear.

o-o-o

Despite all our precautions, it turned out that stern old Saibara was as bad of a gossip as any biddy, and by the end of the next week Doctor and I found ourselves the talk of the town. It seemed that we were approved of as a couple, though -- the bored housewives had apparently been trying to pair off Doctor for years, with little success, and to my surprise and pleasure, they now considered me one of their own, and our couplehood therefore as a personal victory for them despite their lack of actual involvement in the proceedings. Manna proudly proclaimed that she had seen it coming from the start. (I distinctly remembered her making all sorts of wild predictions about Cliff and me back in the fall, and about Kai earlier in the summer, and of Gray of all people when I had just arrived.) Sasha smiled knowingly, and Anna declared it a fine match, though a bit _sudden_. (I think she'd been hoping to snatch up Doctor for her own daughter, and was quite disappointed that she had been unable to convince Mary to make a move before I did.) Old Saibara even had the audacity to ask when he could start expecting new young'uns (to frighten and badger into obedience, no doubt).

Through it all, I felt sorriest for poor Elli, who had to put up with all the idle gossipers who came to the clinic to chat (and offer their sympathies when they thought I was out of earshot). When I realized that, I started avoiding the clinic during the day, instead choosing to meet up with Doctor after his work hours. Inconvenient, perhaps, but better for everyone all around, I thought.

(Besides, meeting after work hours allowed for certain extra perks.)

Fortunately, the gossip soon died down, as it always eventually did -- to be replaced by rampant speculation about a strange visitor to town who arrived just two weeks before Starry Night.

He was an older gentleman from the city, one of those hardcore hot spring enthusiasts, it seemed. Aside from his daily excursions up the hill -- he would always wave and greet me as he passed by the south end of my farm -- he stayed mostly at the inn. He was a rather dashing silver fox, if a bit eccentric, or so I heard.

"I heard he that he's a famous professor!" giggled Manna.

"He does seem the type, doesn't he?" said Sasha.

"Seems rather fishy to me," sniffed Anna.

As for Karen, when we went drinking -- "AHH! It's THAT guy!"

"'That' guy?"

"What do you mean, Karen?" asked Mary, startled by her outburst.

"It's _him_. This weird old bastard Aja and I met in the city a few years ago. That perverted -- arrgghhhh --"

Said gentleman, attention drawn by the disturbance Karen was making, looked over at us and winked.

We couldn't get much else out of her after that.

o-o-o

That is, until the night we went out to celebrate Mary's birthday. Mary showed up at the inn wearing a delicately wrought flower brooch, and we teased her mercilessly about it before presenting her with our own gifts, a leather-bound journal from Karen and a monograph on exotic insects from me.

"Congratulations on making it to adulthood," I said, grinning.

Karen laughed. "Welcome to the travails of being an adult!"

Mary, always uncomfortable with all that attention focused on her, cleverly shifted the topic. "I saw you talking to that gentleman from the city earlier, Karen. Did something happen?"

Karen got quiet, but at last she sighed and looked down. "I was going to wait to tell you guys, but I guess now is as good a time as any..." She gulped down her current drink. "When he goes back to his country, I'm going with him."

We stared.

"No, it's not like that!" she grumbled. "Turns out he's a professor from some foreign music school... he saw me and Aja when we went out drinking that one time, and I guess he was impressed by my rendition of the Mechabot Ultror theme... I have no idea how he managed to track me down again, but he said he wants to take me on as a student or something, and that he'd sponsor my application..."

"Wait. Hold on. Go back. The Ultror theme?!"

Mary giggled as Karen retorted, "It's a hard piece to sing, I'll have you know!"

"Uh huh."

Mary spoke then, more subdued. "But what about your parents?"

"I'll talk to them. I was going to tell them tomorrow." She paused. "They'll understand. The professor's going to come with me to discuss it with them..."

"And Rick?"

Karen's eyes narrowed. Mentioning Rick's name in front of her had not been a very wise thing to do for a few months now. But Mary must have known what she was doing because Karen did not explode in anger as I expected, but instead buried her head in her arms and muttered, "That jerk."

"You told him already?" I asked.

"I thought he of all people would support me," she whispered. "But no, he just starts going on and on about how the guy must be a fake who's trying to trick me, offering me false promises just to lure me away with him. I mean yeah, the old bastard's a bit of a perv, but... I don't think he was lying."

"Rick probably just doesn't want you to leave," said Mary.

"I know," said Karen. "But I thought he understood. I mean -- it's not like I'm planning on leaving forever. I'm not like Aja, I do love the store. And I love this town and all. That's why I decided to stay at first. I thought it wouldn't be so bad, maybe. But, I've always, always..."

I saw then in her a glimpse of the girl who still believed in the Jolly Old Man and the Tooth Sprite, who still visited the Goddess Spring every day in hopes of someday being granted a sighting from the goddess herself, who took long walks along the beach every night to whisper her dreams to the distant waves.

"Anyway, I'll be fine. Since Doctor'll be coming along too, I doubt the old perv will have the guts to try anything."

I set my glass down and looked over.

"Doctor?" I said quietly. "What do you mean?"

"Ah!" Karen looked up at me. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

I shook my head slowly.

"That asshole! I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind --"

"Karen --" I managed to grab her arm before she could dash off. "Karen, please."

"Karen, why is Doctor leaving?" asked Mary, and I was thankful for her voicing the words that seemed to refuse to reach my lips.

"I'm not sure," muttered Karen as she slumped back down into her seat. "Something to do with his studies, I think. He overheard me talking to the professor, and offered to accompany us if I needed the extra reassurance."

"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of what else to say.

Mary said softly, "Claire, you need to talk to him, okay? He must have his reasons."

"I know," I said.

"Sorry," said Karen. "I assumed that you already knew..."

"It's okay." A thought occurred to me, and forcing some cheer back into my voice, I said, "Mary, when you moved here, was Doctor already here?"

She thought for a while. "I think so, yes. I was supposed to enter high school, so five years ago."

"Yeah," said Karen. "He arrived about a year or two before you did. I remember Aja had a crush on him for a while. That was before she found out what he was _really_ like -- no offense meant to you, of course." That last was directed at me.

I smiled. "What about you, Mary? Have you ever regretted coming here?"

"Not at all," Mary said slowly. "I don't think I would have been happy attending a high school in the city. After all, I have learned so much on my own here. From my father, and my mother, and from my books..."

She had quit school after graduating junior high, I knew, and had been entirely self-educated since then, partly because even the closest schools to Mineral Town were too far away for easy commute, and partly because the formal education system had never been kind to her. I remember being surprised that Anna let her quit -- the woman had always seemed so controlling, so proud, so obsessed with appearances, so insistent on doing everything the proper way, on abiding by the rules and expectations of society.

"You don't ever want to go back to the city someday? Or leave to someplace else?"

Mary shook her head. "Of course it was tough at first. Everyone thought my father was strange. And my mother was shunned by everyone because they all saw her as some snooty sophisticated woman from the city who thought herself better than everyone else. Mother struggled so hard to fit in at first... But it got better. People started warming up to us. Everyone here is so kind..."

Karen grinned. "Me and Aja started dragging you out to drink --"

"Mother's never forgiven you for 'corrupting' me, you know."

"She still doesn't realize that it was your dad who let you try a sip of his wine when you were ten?"

"Apparently not," said Mary, beginning to blush.

I listened to them reminisce, and thought of Doctor, and how little I knew of him, despite everything.

o-o-o

The days passed. Doctor and I made plans for Starry Night, inviting Carter to join us for dinner. He and Carter had made it a tradition of celebrating Starry Night together every year, apparently, and though part of me would have preferred to spend the night alone with Doctor, I knew how much Doctor treasured their friendship, and I had grown quite fond of Carter myself.

In the meantime I studied Doctor's face, his behavior. Nothing seemed to have changed. I made up excuses for him in my mind, then discarded them.

Before I knew it, it was Starry Night, and he still had not said a word.

He and Carter both arrived promptly at my door at six (Dog greeted them with much happy barking and attempts to bowl them over before I shooed him back to his doghouse), Carter with a bottle of wine Duke had given him, and Doctor with a few packages that he set aside. I had prepared some simple appetizers, and we nibbled on those while Doctor rolled up his sleeves and set about whipping up a few main dishes. (It somehow did not surprise me to find out that Doctor was a good cook; he was, after all, a health freak who had lived on his own for many years, and I'd already had the pleasure of breakfasting with him once or twice.)

Dinner was quite enjoyable indeed; troubled as I was, I don't think I have ever spent a more entertaining Starry Night. Between Carter's endless stories and Doctor's commentary, I laughed so hard that night, I could almost forget the fear and the insidious doubt that had crept over me, taking root and burrowing into the deepest recesses of my heart.

The evening soon wound down. Carter looked at the time and exclaimed; he excused himself and apologized that he had to leave our company so soon, being an early sleeper.

Sometimes I had to wonder if Carter were inhumanly perceptive, or if he was just plain clueless.

We watched and waved as Carter's tall form ambled away, down the snow-covered lanes. When he was gone, Doctor turned to me. He looked like he wanted to say something, but suddenly afraid again, I reached out to touch his cheek, to make sure he was real, that he was truly standing there before me.

He bent his head and captured my mouth in a kiss.

At first I tilted my head up in response, drowning in the moment. But then I pulled away.

"Claire," he said, and though I could not bring myself to look at him I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "We need to talk."

I said nothing, but led him back indoors.

"My old schoolmate invited me on an overseas research opportunity," he said.

"The one who sends you condoms?"

He watched me carefully, as if trying to decipher my expression. "Yes, him."

"When were you planning on telling me?" My voice came out far calmer than I actually felt.

"I... When I was certain."

"But you've known for weeks now, haven't you? You told Karen and that professor --"

Who was the dense one now?

"Is this -- what you and Elli were arguing about? That day --"

"Yes," he admitted. "Partly."

I could feel my face burning, and not with the heat from the fireplace. I turned away from him.

"I didn't come to a final decision until a week ago," he said. "And after that, I just couldn't think of the best way to tell you."

"You should have just told me. No matter how many fancy words you truss it up in, the truth remains the same, doesn't it? What did you think I would do? Throw a fucking tantrum at you --? I --"

What a beautiful lie it had all been, these weeks. A beautiful damned lie.

"Claire," he said, and I felt him draw close, but he did not touch me. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I truly am. But the truth is, I..."

He heaved a sigh of frustration.

"The truth is, there's something I had to ask you. And I just couldn't --"

"What?" I snapped, knowing that I was being unfair.

"Here," he said, reaching in his pocket for something, and when I turned to see what he was holding out, my heart stopped.

Sparkling in his palm was an amethyst set in a delicate silver band.

All I could do was look at him, waiting for him to explain himself.

He blushed, but his voice was steady as ever as he said, "I won't ask you to come with me. I couldn't do that to you. You have not been here long, but it is already clear how much your farm, this town, mean to you. I cannot -- will not -- demand any promises from you. But the incident with the blue feather made me begin to realize -- just how much you have come to mean to me. And in the end, I wanted to ask you... this, at least. I wanted -- to ask if you would _wait_ for me."

In the churning waters of my heart, only a single thought rose to the surface: it takes more courage and trust to ask someone to wait for you than it does to ask them to follow.

It would have been so easy to lie to him. So, so easy.

But I did not want to lie to him.

"When?" I asked instead. "When are you leaving?"

He bowed his head. "A week after New Year's."

So soon. "And -- how long --?"

"Three years. Two at the very least." He hesitated, then said, "I understand your reluctance. It was too presumptive -- too selfish of me to ask. We haven't even known each other for half that time, if that."

I said, not really conscious of the words coming from my mouth, "You're wrong. I'm not like you -- I can't just slough off an addiction at the drop of a hat --"

As if that explained everything.

He smiled sadly.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't -- I can't -- I need more time."

He nodded, and pulled on his coat, turning to leave.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I couldn't stand it. The sight of his back, turned on me. Fading into the night.

"Wait!"

I grabbed the back of his coat, clutched at the thick fabric, leaned my forehead against his back. He stiffened. I was trembling so hard that my voice barely came out in a whisper.

"Stay. Stay with me tonight."

_I'm addicted to you._

o-o-o

_"It's useless to marry for love, so you might as well just marry for security."_

_"Then I'd rather not get married at all!"_

That had been one of the worst arguments we'd ever had, my mother and I, before the empty threats, before the constant accusations, before our differences grew so huge and complex that we could barely speak two words with each other before starting to shout and scream. What a silly argument it seems, now. I had just started high school at the time, and still believed in the power of my words to sway her, still believed that I could salvage the remaining scraps of our broken family.

When I try to remember any happy memories of that time, I always come up blank.

But there is a fragment of a memory that remains with me still, from earlier, in the weeks right after the divorce.

My mother had always been fond of old foreign songs, and in those weeks she often played her old albums as she stared out the window or lay in bed, face buried in her pillow.

"What's this song, Mother?" I would ask her. And she would grunt out a brief answer before turning back to the wall.

"Who's this singer?" I asked, listening to the warm female voice singing about yesterday and sha-la-las.

"Killed herself from dieting too much."

"What about this one?" This woman's voice was scratchy and wild and filled with something electrifying and primal even as she crooned about summertime and peaceful days.

"Overdosed on drugs."

"This one?" Wistful and haunting. _It's the laughter we remember._

"Oh, her? Still alive."

It is strange to think back on those days, and stranger still to remember them as brief snatches of light and happiness before the poison set in for good.

But what I remembered in particular as I lay there that night, nestled against the solid, familiar warmth of another body, was that old song about a jet plane, sung by a man with a gentle voice to the soft strumming of his guitar.

Tears came trickling down my face, unbidden.

o-o-o

The next week was busy with New Year's preparations and the penning of postcard greetings for everyone in town, and we did not have much chance to speak. Karen's family was at war -- well, more accurately Sasha and Karen were -- and the rest of the town was too busy avoiding getting caught in the crossfire to gossip much about about Doctor's impending departure. (Karen prevailed in the end, when Jeff, to everyone's surprise, sided with her against his wife.)

When I was not helping out with New Year's preparations, I spent my time engrossed in preparations for spring and the new planting season. I had indeed managed to break even this year, and I was satisfied with the results. I would learn from my mistakes and experiences. I would do better, this coming year. I would surpass the limits I had set upon myself.

Sometimes I caught myself fingering the ring Doctor had left with me, which I carried with me in my pocket at all times, as if I were afraid to lose or misplace it.

I was less upset now than I had been. Although I was still hurt that he had not chosen to confide in me or discuss his decision with me, I could understand why he had not done so. Neither of us had ever been clear about our feelings, and in the eyes of everyone else, we had only been dating for a little under two months. We had no -- _obligation_ to each other. His schoolmate's invitation predated our relationship; in fact, I wondered now if at least some of what I had assumed to be typical masculine obtuseness on his part had not actually been deliberate caution. (And if that were true, what did it mean that he had, in the end, after weighing all his choices, thrown all caution to the winds?)

If I had been in his place, I knew I would have likely done the same. I knew how much he cared for the townspeople. How much he wanted to find a cure for Ellen's legs, or for Lillia, who had been ill ever since she was a child. And we both knew that the best place for him to do that was not here. I only wondered why he had ever come here in the first place, why he had stayed for so long, why he had not left earlier.

But at the same time, I think I understood. I think I knew. We were not so different, after all...

And what he asked of me now -- it was not even an official commitment. Not an engagement, not a promise of things to come. Merely a request to _wait_.

o-o-o

There must have been a time when even my mother was happy.

That is what I believe. Rather -- what I _must_ believe.

o-o-o

On the last night of the year, I ascended Mother's Hill and made offerings to the Goddess at her spring. And as midnight drew close, I climbed, shivering, to the peak.

I was not the only one there. Cliff was there, with Doug. (Ann, who had been at the plaza gorging on noodles earlier, was not.) Saibara and Gray were there, as were Mary and her family, huddling under blankets and chatting with each other in low voices. (We greeted each other with well-wishes for the new year.) Even Gotz was there, silent and watchful as he patrolled the nearby trails.

And there was Doctor.

He nodded at me as I approached him and settled down at his side. Tonight the sky was clear, and the stars shone above us more brightly than they had ever been in the city. We sat there together in silence, shivering and waiting for the dawn.

There is risk inherent in everything we do. I have always known that, always done whatever I could to lessen that risk, even knowing that there are times when there is nothing you can do but take the plunge.

"Do you believe in fate?" I asked him quietly.

If he found my sudden question strange, he did not say so.

"I do," he said. "But -- I believe also in the power of humanity to surpass it."

I hugged my knees and leaned my head against his shoulder. After a moment, he reached out his arm and pulled me closer.

I must have dozed off, then, because the next thing I knew, he was shaking my shoulder and whispering, "It's time."

He offered me his hand and I took it. For a moment he looked a bit stunned, but then he smiled, grinning from ear to ear.

I had missed his smile.

We clambered up to join the others, who had gathered already at the edge of the peak. Below us I could see the hazy outline of the town, my farm, my fields, the surrounding countryside stretching for miles beyond.

There were so many things I wanted to tell him, so many things I wanted to say. But there was no time, no words --

He did not let go of my hand.

A hush fell upon the gathering as the sun rose, bathing the land in a gentle glow, ushering in the new year. In the distance I could see the ocean, diamond waves shimmering like a mirage. In just another week, he would board a ship with Karen and her foreign professor. Leave, as so many others had already left, perhaps forever, perhaps only for a little while. Already I could see it: a little white ship bearing them slowly and inexorably towards the sun, into the unknowable future. Already the long, cold night we had endured seemed so far away.

But I did not look long. No ship would come for me, no feathered wings; no path lay for me beyond those shimmering waves or across the boundless sky. To the earth I had given myself: here would I set down my roots, growing them deep and strong. And here would I stretch my branches up and upward, to that ever distant sun.

The ring on my finger glittered in the rosy light.

**Fin**


End file.
